Parent Trapped
by ash the airbender
Summary: "Grace has been begging for weeks to have you and Henry over. Just this one time, and I'll never bother you again." "Fine. One dinner. Henry and I will be there at six." One dinner turns into more than Emma can handle. Mad Swan, companion to "This Year" but can stand alone.
1. Running in Circles

**Parent Trapped**

**Chapter 1: Running in Circles**

_A/N: This was meant as a companion piece to "This Year," but can stand alone. Could be AU, depending on what happens in the show. First, excerpts from "This Year," just to set the stage…_

XXX

_**Some time in April…**_

"Okay, kid, whatever you think is best." Emma grinned, walking home with Henry in the pouring April rain. "Everyone in town knows your judgment is better than mine."

"Great parenting." Jefferson's voice drifted over from across the street. He was strolling outside without a raincoat or umbrella, just his hat. He waved Emma and Henry down and crossed the street to meet them.

"Excuse me, _what_ did you just say about my _parenting_?"

Jefferson grinned. "Just that I really admire your approach. 'Your judgment is better than mine; do whatever you want and I'll go along with it.'" He winked. "_Great_. Are you going to keep that philosophy once he enters his teen years? Because I can really see that working out for you."

Emma glared. "You've got a little something… just there… oh, look, I can see the sarcasm dripping out of your mouth." She slapped Jefferson's arm. "Way to be subtle, douchebag."

"Is that any way to speak in front of your son?" Jefferson said, feigning shock.

"You need to go away," Emma said, grabbing Henry's hand and walking faster in hopes of shutting Jefferson out of their conversation. The relationship between the Sheriff and the Hatter had been a tenuous one ever since he, well, kidnapped her and forced her make him a hat. (Red, however, persisted that the two of them were merely repressing their intense attraction for one another. Emma begged to differ.)

"Come on, Emma," Jefferson said, lengthening his stride to keep up with Emma and Henry. "I know you and I kind of got off on the wrong foot, but you have to understand, desperate times called for desperate measures. You know what it's like, to be willing to go to any lengths for your kid."

"Sure, I understand," Emma said brusquely. She shot Jefferson a scathing look over her shoulder. "That doesn't mean I want to be your friend."

Jefferson only smirked. "Fair enough." They'd reached an intersection. he gestured down the road that led to his house. "This is me, so I suppose… I'll see you."

"Yeah, see you."

The Hatter parted ways with Emma with a tip of his hat. Emma was left standing there, mildly shell-shocked by her encounter with the local madman. Henry looked up at her from where he stood, clasping her hand and smiling slyly.

Seeing his smug look, Emma glared. "Oh, shut up."

XXX

_**Several months later…**_

"Emma! Emma Swan!"

Walking through town to the Sheriff station, Emma heard the Hatter calling to her from across the street. She looked over her shoulder and saw him waving her down, jogging across a crosswalk towards her. Emma's mind raced; she panicked. What was she going to do? Stay and act like this was totally normal? Hell no. Get a restraining order? Tempting, but probably not a good idea. Run?

Yup, that's the one.

Not giving her choice a second thought, Emma bolted.

The Sheriff station was still a ways off, so she made a detour. She burst into Granny's diner to find Belle, Snow, and Red all clustered around the counter chatting in hushed voices. Emma slid onto the stool beside her mother, tucking her hair behind her ear and leaning towards them.

"Quick, engage me in a conversation," she pleaded desperately. Red scrunched up her nose curiously.

"What—?"

Before Red could ask, Jefferson entered the diner, looking around. His face lit up when he spotted Emma, and he made his way towards them. Red, along with everyone else, realized what was going on. She grinned maliciously.

"Please don't please don't please don't please don't please don't," Emma begged under her breath. Red ignored Emma's pleas and waved Jefferson over.

"Jeff, hey, how are you?" She met Emma's death glare with a self-satisfied smirk. Red refused to abandon her crazy theory that Emma and Jefferson were repressing passionate feelings for one another, despite Emma's fervent and frequent assurances that this was not the case. "What brings you here this morning?"

Jefferson ignored Red, giving her no more than a tip of his hat in acknowledgement before turning instead to Emma. He was breathing heavily; Emma had led him on quite a chase. "Emma, hear me out, please," he implored. "Grace has been begging for weeks to have you and Henry over. She really wants her dad to at least be on good terms with her best friend's mother. And honestly, I was going to invite you to dinner. And you ran off like I was chasing you down with a chainsaw. How many times do I have to promise I'm not a psychopath before you believe me? Do you want me to get a note from the Cricket? Because if that's what it takes, I can do that."

Emma shook her head. "No, thanks," she said with a halfhearted attempt at a polite smile that came out as more of a grimace. "And thank you for the invitation, but Henry and I won't be going to dinner."

Jefferson took off his hat and ran a hand through his hair. "Emma, our children are best friends. And yet you avoid me like I'm a carrier of viral plague."

So you're saying this is the sort of thing you do with all of Grace's friends' parents?" Emma asked, knowing full well that Jefferson could rarely be seen socializing with anyone apart from Rumplestiltskin and Whale, both of whom he knew from the old world. Mostly he stayed cooped up in his mansion doing whatever it was he did to pass the time when Grace was at school or with Henry.

"Grace doesn't have any other friends," Jefferson said matter-of-factly. Emma clamped her mouth shut. Henry didn't have any other friends either, at least not his age. Maybe this wasn't such a bad idea… for Henry, that is… "That's why this is so important," the Hatter continued. "I… I want her to be happy. And if this is what it takes, then I'm willing to endure an awkward meal or two with a woman I once kidnapped."

Emma glared, still withholding her final answer. She wasn't convinced. Jefferson made one final plea. "Just this one time," he said earnestly. "Then you can decide once and for all if I'm a crazy axe murderer, and I'll never bother you again."

"I don't know about axe murderer, but the kidnapping thing is pretty irrefutable," Emma said drily. '_So is the "crazy" thing,_' she thought. Jefferson didn't argue, just looked at her with hopeful eyes and a pleading smile. Emma hesitated before heaving a melodramatic sigh.

"Fine," she agreed. "One dinner. Henry and I will be there at six. But any creepy… weirdness and I'm finding a reason to lock you up at the station."

"Deal." Jefferson looked pleased with himself. "I can't wait to tell Grace. She's going to be so excited."

"Yeah, okay, get out," Emma said bluntly. She'd had enough of this; she was only going to spend time with Jefferson for Henry's sake, and Henry wasn't here right now, so Jefferson could go dive off a cliff for all she cared.

Having gotten what he came for, Jefferson left. Three pairs of eyes – Snow's, Red's, and Belle's – were focused on Emma, unblinking. She turned to them and jammed a finger in Red's direction.

"Not. One. Word."

XXX

_**That same day, at lunchtime…**_

With the dinner with Jefferson hanging over her head all day, Emma couldn't focus on anything. She really didn't want to go through with it, but she'd already told Henry and to back out now would majorly let him down.

She approached him that afternoon when he returned from having lunch with Regina. He usually ate dinner with Regina on Saturdays, but with this change in plans, Regina had instead agreed to take him for lunch as well as Sunday dinner. Emma had actually been surprised with how flexible the Mayor had been when she'd requested they change their Henry schedule.

"Henry, about dinner tonight…" she began. He looked up at her, already distraught.

"You're not canceling, are you?" he said worriedly. Emma shook her head.

"No, Henry, no," she assured him. "I just…" She hesitated. "I don't know how to do this. I want to keep an open mind at all, you know I do, but…"

"You don't know if you can," Henry finished for her, understanding. "I think I might actually have an idea.

"What?" Emma asked. Loath as she was to admit it, Henry's ideas were actually usually pretty good.

"You need to talk to Belle," he said matter-of-factly. Emma raised an eyebrow.

"Belle? Why?"

"Rumplestiltskin kidnapped her, right?" Henry reasoned. "But look at them now. They worked it out. Ask her how."

That… actually might be helpful, Emma realized. She nodded and pulled out her phone. "I guess it can't hurt," she said. She paused, turned to Henry again. "I don't have Belle's number."

Once she'd gotten the number from Henry, Emma dialed it and waited for Belle to pick up.

"'Lo?" came Belle's voice from the other end. She sounded scratchy and groggy, like she'd just woken up from a nap or something. Emma didn't want to know.

"Hey Belle, it's Emma."

"Emma?" Belle sounded confused. Probably rightfully so; Emma and Belle weren't exactly close.

"I got your number from Henry," Emma explained briefly. "Listen, I need your advice on something."

"What is it?" Belle asked.

"So Henry's told me bits and pieces of you and Gold's story," the Sheriff prefaced, a bit uneasily, "And I was wondering if you could tell me… How did you and him manage to get past the whole thing where he kidnapped you? I mean, I look at you now and you've got a pretty healthy relationship. What I want to know is, how? With all he's done, I mean… and to you…" She trailed off, not quite sure what else to say.

"He didn't exactly kidnap me," Belle clarified. "It wasn't against my will. I agreed to go with him. But I do understand what you're getting at. How did I look past that, you're wondering?"

"Yes, exactly," Emma said, glad that Belle understood even if she herself didn't.

"And this is about Jefferson?" Belle asked. Emma blanched. How could Belle possibly know that? She scoffed into the phone, hoping to sound convincing.

"Jefferson? Why would it be about Jefferson?"

"Well aren't you going to his place for dinner?" Belle asked. Something about her tone made Emma feel a little more at ease. Belle wouldn't judge her; that much she knew. "I understand the two of you have a complicated history."

"Oh." Emma paused. At least Belle hadn't gotten on board Red's annoying "Jeff and Emma" bandwagon. "Then, yeah, it's about Jefferson. It's just, I can tell this dinner is really important to Henry. He wants Jefferson and me to get along. And if it's something he really wants, then I'm willing to give it a shot. But I feel like I need to give it my _best_ shot, and that's where I need your help."

"Just get to know him as a person," Belle advised. "When I got to know Rumplestiltskin, I knew what he'd done and what he was known for, but in time I saw who he could be, and what he could be to me, and I found myself falling in love with him."

"Any advice on how to avoid the whole 'falling in love' part?" Emma tried. Belle chuckled.

"If I could choose who I fell in love with, my life would've been a lot easier," Belle said. "I hate to say it, but some things are just meant to be."

Emma sighed. She'd suspected as much. "I thought you might say that," she said. "Thanks, though, Belle. Really."

"Anytime," Belle said cheerily. "And hey, if anything happens, you send me a text. I'll call and fake an emergency."

"Like what kind of emergency?" Emma asked dubiously. Nothing too extreme, she hoped.

"Oh, I don't know. Rumplestiltskin did some terrible thing to some innocent person and I need you to put a stop to it?"

That was certainly believable enough. "Good plan. Thanks again. I owe you one." Emma paused, realizing that might not be the best choice of words. "But don't you dare tell Gold."

"I wouldn't dream of it."

Satisfied, Emma hung up. Henry was looking up at her expectantly. "So?" he prompted. Emma gave a half-smile and rumpled his hair.

"I think I can handle this dinner thing," she said optimistically. Henry beamed.

"Great!"


	2. Come and Visit

**Parent Trapped**

**Chapter 2: Come and Visit**

_A/N: Henry and Grace solemnly swear that they are up to no good. Mischief managed? We'll see._

XXX

_**That evening, at six…**_

"I'm not gonna lie, I wouldn't mind living in a place like this," Emma admitted when they drove up to Jefferson's mansion in the woods. Henry rang the doorbell, and the resounding _ding-dong_ echoed through the cavernous house.

"It's pretty cool," Henry agreed. He'd been grinning nonstop ever since Emma told him of the plans she'd made with Jefferson to have dinner together. It was kind of unnerving. "Grace's room is awesome." Emma raised an eyebrow.

"You've been in Grace's bedroom?" She wasn't sure if that was the sort of thing she should be worried about. After all, she was pretty dang new to this whole "mother" thing.

"Mom," Henry said seriously, "Instead of wallpaper, her walls are covered with bookshelves. How can you expect me _not_ to go in there?"

The kid had a point. And besides, he was only eleven. What sort of mischief could he possibly be getting up to? Before Emma could respond, the door swung open to reveal Grace's petite little form grinning up at them.

"Hello, Emma! Hi Henry!" she exclaimed, stepping aside to let them in. "You're right on time! Dad's having a little trouble with the oven; he hasn't used it for anything but storage in… well, ever." She shrugged. "But you can wait in the kitchen! Or the dining room! Or wherever!"

Emma was a little thrown off by Grace's unbridled enthusiasm. She hesitantly entered the house, looking around as she did so. It looked just as she remembered it, only a lot brighter and happier. Grace's things – books and comic books and stuffed animals – were scattered everywhere, draped over armchairs and shoved into corners. Almost as soon as Grace shut the door behind them, she grabbed Henry by the hand and dragged him off into the house, chattering a million miles a minute about… something. Emma wasn't sure. Most of what they said didn't even sound like English. She thought they might be talking about superheroes. She knew a little bit about that. Henry loved the Hulk.

"Where am I supposed to go?" she called out to no one in particular. Jefferson's voice called back to her from another room.

"I'm in the kitchen!"

Emma followed the sound of his voice into the kitchen, where he stood with an apron on looking generally ridiculous and cursing up a storm at whatever burnt and charred thing he'd been trying to cook.

"Looks delicious," she said sarcastically. Jefferson glared over his shoulder at her.

"I don't normally cook," he said sharply. "It's not that bad." Emma raised an eyebrow.

"I can't even tell what 'it' is," she remarked. Jefferson narrowed his eyes a moment longer before sighing in defeat.

"Mind if we order pizza?"

"Pizza sounds great," Emma said with a shrug. She honestly didn't care. She just hoped this evening went by without any catastrophes.

Jefferson nodded gratefully and picked up the phone, dialing the pizza place. Emma actually felt a twinge of camaraderie. They were two single parents with absolutely no homemaking skills just trying to get by. Maybe they had more in common than she originally thought.

XXX

_**Meanwhile…**_

"What do you think? Do you think we've got any chance of it working?"

Grace and Henry had gallivanted up to Grace's room, and now sat cross-legged on the carpet, speaking in hushed voices as Grace's furry gray cat rubbed against Henry's leg.

"I hope so," Henry said in a very serious voice, for this was very serious business. "Wouldn't it just be so great if it did?"

"Obviously we'll need to come up with excuses for them to do more things together," Grace reasoned. Henry nodded.

"What if we made these dinners a weekly thing?" he suggested eagerly. Grace nodded, head bobbing up and down with enthusiasm.

"Absolutely," she concluded. "We absolutely should. If we play our cards right, who knows, maybe it'll come together all on its own."

Jefferson's voice then came echoing through the house from the kitchen: "Grace! Henry! Dinner!"

"Alright, time to get this show on the road," Grace said, giving a meaningful quirk of her eyebrows as she shot to her feet. Henry followed suit, practically dancing out of Grace's room as Grace shut the door behind him.

He hummed, singing a lighthearted lyric under his breath: "_Let's get together, yeah, yeah, yeah…_"

At dinner, Emma, Jefferson, Henry, and Grace sat at Jefferson's kitchen table helping themselves to pepperoni pizza and cans of soda. Henry and Grace mostly led the conversation, with Emma and Jefferson occasionally contributing when a question was asked directly to them.

Halfway through dinner, a teapot whistled in the other room. Jefferson excused himself, and returned moments later with a pot of tea and four teacups. He was pouring for himself when he turned to Emma. "Tea?" he asked, gesturing with the teapot. Emma leveled him with a deadpan glare and quirked a single eyebrow.

"Seriously?" was all she said. Jefferson caught on immediately and returned her scowl.

"I'm not going to drug you," he promised. Emma, however, was not convinced. She crossed her arms defiantly.

"No thanks. I'll stick with my Coke." She made a point of taking a swig from her can of Coca-Cola. Henry chuckled into his half-drunk can of Sprite. Grace pursed her lips to keep from laughing outright. This night was going better than either of them had expected. Henry pulled out the phone he'd gotten for his birthday – Emma had wanted a way to keep tabs on him that didn't involve using ridiculous code names and talking to each other on walkie-talkies – and tapped out a quick message to Grace:

"_I think it's going well._"

Seconds later, Grace's phone buzzed noisily in her back pocket. She glanced over to her dad to see if he'd noticed, but he was taking the tea tray back into the kitchen. In a flash, she whipped out her phone and replied:

"_Maybe we should leave the room so they can kiss._"

"Henry, don't text under the table," Emma scolded when she noticed Henry reading his message from Grace. Henry obediently put his phone away, clasped his hands in his lap, and gave a falsely innocent grin. Predictably, Emma did not fall for this. Henry distracted her by posing a seemingly harmless query.

"Mom, can we stay and watch a movie?" he asked loudly to his mother when Jefferson was back in the room. He wanted to make sure Jefferson heard the plans they were making.

"Absolutely not," was Emma's immediate response.

"Aw, mom, please?" Henry begged, shooting Grace a significant glance that cued her in to start backing him up on this. Grace immediately leapt into action, tugging at her father's sleeve and looking up at him with puppy-dog eyes.

"Yeah, dad, that'd be so much fun!" she exclaimed. "We could watch _The Avengers_! That's my favorite! Besides, I _need_ to prove Henry wrong that Iron Man is _way_ cooler than the Hulk."

"_Not_ true," Henry argued. "The Hulk is way more powerful! It's in the comic books."

"Listen, before this turns into an argument over which superhero is the best superhero—" Emma began.

"Batman," Henry and Grace both interrupted her in unison. "No question," Henry added. Emma rolled her eyes.

"Okay, before this turns into an argument over which _Avenger_ is the best, let's please just come to terms with the fact that we are _not_ staying for a movie tonight," Emma continued, annoying the kids' interjection. Jefferson looked on indifferently.

"I really don't mind if you stay," he said, clearing away the plates and piling them into the sink, throwing away empty pizza boxes and sealing the leftover slices in Ziploc bags and into the fridge for later.

"I wouldn't want to impose," Emma ground out through her teeth, hoping Jefferson would get the message and take her side. Unfortunately, if there was one thing Emma knew about men, it was that you could hit them in the head with a shovel and they still wouldn't take a hint. Jefferson turned to her with wide, unknowing eyes.

"No, really, it's no imposition," he insisted.

"And you love _The Avengers_!" Henry argued. Emma pointed a finger at him.

"I loved it the first time, kid," she corrected. "Since then we've watched it at least a hundred more times. I can quote it from memory. Although Chris Hemsworth is a delectable example of a human male, it is not enough to make up for the fact that if I see that movie one more time I may not be able to restrain the urge to hurt something."

Henry pouted, but his efforts were in vain. Within ten minutes, Emma had wrapped up the dinner, said their goodbyes to Jefferson and Grace, collected their things, and shuffled Henry out the door.

Jefferson continued waving until Emma's car pulled out of the driveway, and then shut the front door behind their departing visitors. He turned to Grace with a puzzled expression on his face and a weird feeling in his chest.

"Who's Chris Hemsworth?" he asked. '_And why do I feel the inexplicable urge to hate him?_' he wanted to add. Grace looked up at him with those big, innocent eyes that he knew were hiding something nefarious (they always were).

"Thor," Grace answered simply. Jefferson conveyed his continuing confusion with a raised eyebrow. Grace heaved a longsuffering sigh at her father's boundless ignorance. "The guy with the funny accent and the red cape and the magic hammer."

"Ah," Jefferson said. That really didn't help with explaining why he felt predisposed to dislike whomever this Chris Hemsworth was, but at least now he had a clear picture of the actor in his mind. "Right." He returned to the kitchen to clean off the table. Grace trailed after him, still clearly looking to ask him something. He looked over his shoulder at her, prompting her with his eyes to continue.

"So…" Grace began, drawing out the syllable as long as it would go. "Wanna watch _The Avengers_?"

Jefferson started doing the dishes. "Not particularly, no."

"How did you think tonight went?" she asked.

"I don't know, well enough, I guess." Jefferson shrugged. He didn't care all that much. Obviously he cared that Grace was happy, but all that entailed was getting through a dinner with Emma without either of them killing or insulting each other. And he had successfully done that. So… mission accomplished, right?

Except that something – some unknown, annoying, nagging little part of him that didn't know when to _shut up_ – possessed him to blurt out what could quite possibly become words he would later regret.

"We could do it again next week," he found himself saying, "If that would make you happy. And if Emma and Henry are free."

Something in Grace's grin set off alarms in Jefferson's head; his daughter was _definitely _up to something unsavory. It was the same grin she'd worn when she'd replaced Jefferson's shampoo with toothpaste. His hair hadn't been clean for a week.

"That would be _great_."

XXX

_**Meanwhile…**_

"How did you think this was?" Henry asked Emma on the ride home in the dark. Emma spared him a glance out of the corner of her eye before returning her gaze to the road.

"What?" she asked.

"Tonight," Henry clarified. "Dinner. Jefferson. Grace. All that."

Emma shrugged a shoulder. "Fine, I guess," she said drily. "I wasn't drugged or knocked unconscious or tied up or threatened with a gun to my head, so that's a major improvement from last time." Henry frowned.

"Really, mom, how do you think it went?" His tone implored her to be serious.

"I don't know, why do you care so much?" she asked. He fidgeted in his seat.

"It's just… really important to me that everything went well," he fudged, not quite meeting her eyes. Emma caught on to what was going on. At least, she thought she did.

"I see how this is," she said slowly as realization dawned. Henry looked up with wide, panicked eyes.

"You do?" he asked worriedly. Emma nodded.

"Yep. Everything is finally clear." She stopped at a stop sign before continuing on. "Why you care so much about how tonight went, why you want me and Jefferson to get along, why you wanted to have dinner with these guys in the first place… It's so obvious! I can't believe I didn't realize before."

Henry waited, unable to breathe, absolutely positive that his mom had caught on to he and Grace's scheme. "Realize what?" he managed in a squeaky voice. Emma broke into a grin.

"You like Grace!" she exclaimed. Henry's eyes widened.

"I… you… she…" he stammered, then paused. "_What?_" What could have possibly led her to believe _that_? He and Grace didn't _act_ like they liked each other… right? Did they?

"I totally get it now!" Emma chuckled. "You should have just told me, you little rascal; you're trying to get the girl and you want your mom to get along with her dad so you didn't end up stuck in a low-key version of _Romeo and Juliet_." (To be fair, Emma had never read _Romeo and Juliet_ and only vaguely remembered the plotline from the Leonardo DiCaprio version, so when she compared it to Henry and Grace's nonexistent love life, she really didn't know the full scope of how mistaken she was.)

"Nice work, kid; she's a real keeper, but next time don't go behind my back," Emma suggested. "For a second I thought you might be trying to set me up with my former kidnapper." She laughed out loud. "But that would be ridiculous! You'd never do that."

Not quite believing his luck (not to mention the irony of the situation), Henry managed a nervous laugh. "Ha, ha, yeah," he said, "Because that would be crazy."

He typed up a quick text to Grace:

"_This is going to be harder than we thought._"


	3. Through the Looking Glass

**Parent Trapped**

**Chapter 3: Through the Looking Glass**

_A/N: There are a lot of things Emma doesn't understand. Right now Jefferson is at the top of the list._

XXX

_**A Monday in June…**_

Jefferson contacted Emma on Monday morning regarding the possibility of a follow-up dinner that Saturday. To be honest, Emma had been expecting as much, seeing as the first had gone without a major hitch and Henry and Grace were both so curiously determined that Emma and Jefferson get along. Emma didn't understand it, but then, she'd never had parents, so why would she?

He called while she was working; her cell phone buzzed in her pocket and when she saw his name, she answered.

"Hello?" She leaned back in her swivel chair, running a lazy hand through her curls. It was early, and she hadn't slept well the night before. She was currently sitting at her desk in the Sheriff station, seizing every possible opportunity to distract herself from the monotonous busywork that seemed to pile on her desk every day, so needless to say she wasn't getting much of her work done. Being the Sheriff of such a small, relatively crime-free town meant she spent more time busying herself with the boring nuances of the law instead of chasing after criminals with her guns blazing and her siren wailing.

Jefferson's voice spoke up on the other end, loud and clear and centering Emma once again in reality. "Hey, this is Jefferson," he told her needlessly. Emma chuckled, repositioning her laptop on the desk and rolling her chair over to the filing cabinet in the corner, sifting through manila folders for the information relevant to what she was doing.

"I know," she said. "I have caller ID."

"Yes, thank you, I figured as much," Jefferson said impatiently. Emma returned to her desk, holding the phone between her shoulder and her ear so she could have both hands free to sort through a stack of papers contained within one of the folders from the cabinet. One thing Emma had learned about the adult world was that no matter how cool your job was there was always the inescapable possibility of paperwork. Even when she'd been a bail bond agent there had been forms to fill out and regulations to read up on. Paperwork was the very definition of a necessary evil.

"So, uh, why are you calling?" Emma prompted when Jefferson didn't say anything more. As much as she was glad to have something to distract her from work, making casual conversation with the Mad Hatter was not high on her list of things she'd rather be doing. In fact, she almost preferred the paperwork.

It wasn't that she held that much of a grudge against Jefferson, although that's what it used to be. Now that she'd grown to accept him as part of her life – a _small_ part of her life, but a part all the same – she could safely say she didn't consider him an enemy, but neither were they friends. They just didn't have anything in common.

Jefferson seemed to snap out of some sort of distracted reverie when Emma spoke. "Actually, I was going to ask if you might want to come over for dinner again this Saturday," he said, his approach a little overly formal. "That is, if you are so inclined."

Emma laughed. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she was aware that this was _Jefferson_, who she made a point of avoiding whenever she could, and yet here she was, talking to him on the phone, _laughing_, even, like a couple of old friends. And this was after only one dinner!

Thinking rationally, however, Emma decided not to take her own behavior too seriously. She'd always been more comfortable talking to people on the phone rather than in person. It was easier, not to have to see a person's face when speaking. And besides, for weeks Jefferson had given Emma no reason to be suspicious or hostile. Maybe she could cut him some slack, just this once. They didn't have to be friends. But maybe she could hold a civil conversation with him every once in a while. It would certainly make Henry happy if the two of them could get along.

Still, she was a little more careful to keep her guards up from that point in the conversation. She'd learned it was always better to be safe than sorry.

"Quit being so formal," she suggested, setting aside a stack of papers and stapling them. The stapler, however, got stuck; Emma cursed under her breath and took it apart, prying at a twisted staple with her fingernails and simultaneously realizing that she really needed to trim her fingernails. "I'm not the Queen of England. Try talking like a normal person, maybe you won't come across so standoffish and strange."

"Excuse me for having manners," Jefferson retorted.

"There's a fine line between having good manners and being a stiff," Emma informed him matter-of-factly, though she was really just giving him a hard time. "You, my friend, have erased that line."

"I wasn't aware that we had ever become friends," Jefferson said. Emma rolled her eyes.

"We're not," she insisted. "It's just an expression. Like how Gold calls everyone 'dearie.'"

"That was sarcasm," Jefferson told her. Emma scowled into the phone. "Anyways, are you going to answer my question sometime this century? I'd like to be able to give Grace an answer when she gets home from school." Emma's eyebrows shot up at Jefferson's sharp impatience. A moment of silence passed between them. Emma heard a car drive by outside the window. She glanced through the glass. From her window she could see across the street: the sidewalk, a bench, a lamppost.

Leaning against the lamppost, facing with his back to the station, was a tall, broad-shouldered man in a silk shirt and slacks, with an old-fashioned but somehow not out of place top hat on his head. Emma would know that hat anywhere.

Sure enough, the man was holding a cell phone to his ear. He turned so that his profile was visible to Emma as another car approached. Emma held her breath. It was Jefferson.

He was apparently oblivious to her face in the window across the street, staring like an idiot. Emma shook herself and forced herself to look away. Surely it was only by coincidence that Jefferson had ended up within her line of sight. A lot of people passed this way en route to other places in town.

She chanced another glance out the window. Jefferson had momentarily removed his hat to scratch his head. Emma's reflection in the glass somewhat obscured her view of him. He turned to look in her direction, and she ducked.

"Yeah, I think Henry would love that," she finally said into the phone, overcoming the strangeness of the situation. She was going to have to get used to a little strangeness if these dinners with the Hatter were to become a weekly thing, which, if Henry and Grace had their way, they probably would. "And you know me; I'd never say no to a free meal." She attempted a lighthearted laugh that only managed to come across as forced, which admittedly it was. This whole thing with Jefferson was so completely out of her comfort zone. But she would do it, for Henry. And she really did like free food.

"Great," Jefferson said, though from the tone of his voice Emma could tell he held similar reservations. "I'll see you at six again, then?"

"Sounds like a plan." She hung up the phone and let out a cleansing breath, relieving herself of at least some of this crippling stress.

"Henry had better be grateful for all everything I put up with for him," Emma muttered to herself, thinking of the whole crazy curse business, of trying to get along with Regina, and now, Jefferson. She gave up on the stapler she was trying to fix, tossing it unceremoniously into a drawer with a loud clatter and instead fishing around in the disorganized madness for a paper clip.

Emma sat back and looked out the window again, but Jefferson was gone without a trace. The sidewalk was otherwise empty, save for the front page of a newspaper fluttering out of a garbage bin and landing on the street. It was cloudy, but the sky didn't seem to be threatening rain. At least she hoped not; she hadn't brought a jacket.

Saturday at six. Hopefully she would be ready by then. And maybe, just maybe, she could get used to this crazy new routine and not end up blowing her brains out.

XXX

_**Meanwhile, just down the street…**_

It was a perfect day for a walk. The clouds were keeping some of the summer heat at bay, and a light breeze teased Jefferson's hat.

He didn't get out much, preferred to stay home alone or else with Grace, but something about having Emma and Henry over made him want to maybe have a little more of a social life.

The best place to socialize, as he very well knew, was Granny's diner, but at ten o'clock in the morning everyone had finished having breakfast and there would be a lull in customers before the lunch rush. So he had opted to go for a walk.

Like Emma, Jefferson had a very flexible job. He worked from home as a freelance writer. His editor thought he had a condition that kept him from going out of town. He didn't feel bad lying to the woman – Jocelyn Banks, was her name – because really, being cursed wasn't so different from having a condition.

Jefferson passed by the diner, pausing to greet Red, who was sitting outside on a bench, clearly on her break. She was eating, since she wouldn't have time to fit in a meal when everyone started coming in for lunch.

"Hey, Jeff," she said amicably after chewing and swallowing a bite of her sandwich. "You have a minute? I could use some company."

Figuring the whole reason he'd left his house was to be more social, Jefferson shrugged and took a seat on the bench beside Red. "How was Saturday?" Red asked casually, masking any ulterior motive she might have beside a pleasantly friendly face. Jefferson raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"Fine," he answered simply. Red scrunched up her nose.

"Just fine?" she said, her curiosity heightening. "Well, what did you do?"

"We ate dinner," Jefferson said. Red looked disappointed.

"That's all? That's really all you did?" She sighed. "Jefferson, you'll never get the girl if you don't put forth a little more effort." It didn't take a telepath to know what Red was referring to: her theory that Emma and Jefferson had latent, undeclared feelings for one another. She was a hopeless romantic, or else just desperate for a little gossip in their quiet little town.

"I have no desire to 'get' Emma," Jefferson said, setting the record straight, though he doubted Red would listen. "I just want Grace to be happy. This whole thing was she and Henry's idea. If it means Emma will stop acting as if I might have a psychotic meltdown at the slightest provocation, then that would be great. But I'm really not looking for anything more to come of this."

Red pursed her lips. "Methinks thou dost protest too much," she insisted. Jefferson got to his feet, tipping his hat.

"What, frighted with false fire?" he retorted with a gleam in his eyes, and walked away.


	4. Curiosity Can Kill

**Parent Trapped**

**Chapter 4: Curiosity Can Kill**

_A/N: Emma and Jefferson get to know each other. Jefferson has a few skeletons in his closet, but then, so does Emma._

XXX

_**Saturday, June 21…**_

Emma and Henry were running a little late on their way to Jefferson's house that Saturday. Henry spent the entire car ride bouncing his leg impatiently, his eyes flicking over to the time display every few seconds. Finally his major case of jitters started grating on Emma's nerves.

"Calm down, kid, okay?" she said, trying to keep from snapping at him. It wasn't his fault; she was just as anxious as he was, albeit for entirely different reasons. "We'll get there soon; there's nothing I can do to get there faster. Nothing legal, anyway," she added, feeling a twinge of guilt as she sped through a yellow light. She wasn't supposed to do this sort of thing. As Sheriff, it was her job to enforce the laws, not break them.

Then again, she'd also done jail time for theft. Running a red light would hardly qualify as one of the worst things she'd ever done. It didn't even make the top ten (or the top one hundred, for that matter).

"Sorry," Henry said. "I'm just nervous."

Emma glanced at Henry out of the corner of her eye, one eyebrow raised in question. "You, nervous?" she asked, with a chuckle and a tone of disbelief. "What've you got to be nervous about?"

Deciding not to push her luck, Emma came to a full stop at the next red light. Hands resting on the steering wheel, she turned and appraised Henry with a look that said, '_You might as well tell me now, Henry, I'm going to find out anyway._' Henry's eyes widened and he quickly looked away, down at his sneaker-clad feet, out the window, anywhere but at Emma.

"I've just got a lot riding on these dinners," Henry muttered with a shrug. It didn't sound to Emma like a lie, but it didn't sound like the whole truth either. "I really want you and Jefferson to be friends."

"You call your best friend's dad by his first name," Emma observed, noticing this for the first time. Given the past year or so of her life, it was understandable that she'd become somewhat desensitized to strangeness. "Isn't that a little weird?"

Henry shrugged indifferently. "That's what he tells me to call him," he replied. The light turned green and Emma sped off towards Jefferson's house in the woods. "Besides, I call you and Regina by your first names sometimes. You're my moms." Emma's mouth set itself in a frown.

"I don't think I'll ever be used to that sentence," she muttered. Henry smiled at her, that bright-eyed smile that reminded Emma why she'd agreed to this mad idea in the first place: for Henry.

"It is weird," Henry agreed. "But I like it. You and Regina don't try to kill each other anymore—"

"I never tried to kill Regina," Emma protested. "I can't say the same for her, and I did try to have her arrested a few times, but I never tried to _kill_ her."

Henry gave a half-nod, conceding her point, and then continued as if Emma hadn't said anything. "—Jefferson and Grace have each other now, and Mary Margaret and David, Mr. Gold has Belle, Ashley and Sean have Alexandra, and nothing's been set on fire for months." Henry said this as if it were some great accomplishment, as if arson was a normal occurrence (which Emma supposed it had been, for a while) and the fact that no one had set fire to anything for a while deserved a celebration.

"And they all lived happily ever after," Emma tritely intoned, giving a sardonic smile.

"Not all of them," Henry said under his breath. He looked out the window at the mossy tree trunks whizzing past. "Not yet."

Mere minutes later, Emma and Henry were once again standing at Jefferson's door. Emma knocked and rang the doorbell, which echoed through the spacious house. After a moment of silence, hurried footsteps approached, accompanied by Grace's voice calling out, "THEY'RE HERE!"

The door was thrown open, revealing Grace's grinning voice. She stepped aside to let the visitors in.

"You guys can come wait in the sitting room," she said, beckoning them into the first room on the right. It was dark and dusty; Grace had to stand on her tiptoes to turn on the lamp and illuminate the area. Emma took a seat in a high-backed black-and-white armchair. There was a grand piano in the room that looked as though it had never been played and functioned more as a table, cluttered as it was with haphazard piles of books, both old, leather-bound tomes with their titles embossed in golden letters and battered paperback editions of popular children's novels.

"We're going out to eat today," Grace informed them, clearing away a space on the piano bench for her to sit on. She swung her legs back and forth beneath her, smiling as if she knew a secret. Henry sat in an armchair identical to the one Emma was occupying.

It really was a beautiful house. The high ceilings, the hardwood floors, the austere furniture, and books everywhere. In this room the wallpaper was black and white like the furnishings, with an intricate fleur-de-lis pattern.

"Nowhere too fancy, I hope," Emma said with genuine concern. She'd feel awfully out of place if Jefferson took her to some expensive restaurant, the way she was dressed. She'd been expecting to show up and order pizza again, or maybe takeaway, and she'd gotten dressed with that in mind, in a gray tank top and tight, dark jeans and her red jacket. "I look like a slob today."

"Nowhere fancy, just Granny's," echoed Jefferson's voice as he stepped into the room. Emma looked up and gave her best attempt at a friendly smile. "And you look fine," Jefferson added, though it didn't really sound like he cared what she looked like. Which was fine. Obviously.

"Should we go?" Jefferson asked, motioning towards the door. Emma shot to her feet.

"Sure," she said a bit hastily, not sure why she felt so shaken up. It was just Jefferson. No one she needed to impress.

"I thought we might take two separate cars," Jefferson said as they all filed out the front door, "So you and Henry can go home straight after." Emma nodded.

"I think that would probably be best."

XXX

_**At the diner…**_

"Just water for me."

Red nodded and went off to place their drink orders. Emma ran her tongue over her teeth and stared out the window by their booth, feeling supremely uncomfortable. Jefferson kept looking at her, and then looking quickly away like he was afraid he'd be caught. And he wouldn't sit still. It was really distracting. And disconcerting. For some reason.

Henry, meanwhile, tapped his fork against the table and jiggled his foot like he'd done in the car. Grace let out a deep sigh and stared at her hands folded in her lap.

On a list of Emma's most awkward experiences, this dinner with Jefferson had to rank at least in the top five.

When Red returned with their drinks – Henry's Sprite, Grace's chocolate milkshake, Emma's diet Coke, and Jefferson's water – the four of them eagerly seized upon the opportunity to occupy themselves with something and grabbed their beverages in both hands, gratefully drinking. Red raised an eyebrow and pursed her lips but didn't say anything. They placed their orders and she left.

Grace slurped her milkshake. She and Henry exchanged across the table a desperate look infused with meaning.

'_This is a disaster_,' Grace's eyes seemed to say. Henry gave the barest nod.

'_We need to start a conversation_,' he communicated by jerking his head in the direction of their parents. Grace returned his nod and opened her mouth to speak.

"Let's play a dinner game," she suggested. The sound of her voice was loud, abrupt, and discordant as it shattered the palpable silence. Emma looked taken aback. "What?" she said, sounding as though that was the last thing she wanted to do.

Henry leapt into the conversation like his life depended on it. "That's a great idea!" he exclaimed with undue enthusiasm. Emma looked at him like he'd gone crazy, but he ignored her. "We can ask each other questions and everybody has to answer."

"Ten questions," Grace clarified. Henry nodded his agreement.

"Will you, Mom?" he pleaded. Emma scowled but nonetheless gave in.

"Fine, sure," she said. She looked expectantly at Jefferson, who sighed and rolled his eyes.

"I guess I'll play as well," he said. Henry and Grace grinned at each other.

"I'll go first, since it was my idea to play a game," Grace said. "We can go around in a circle to take turns, so Henry will be next, and then Emma, and then Dad." She took a moment to consider her question, before asking, "What's your favorite movie? I'll answer first; mine's _The Avengers_. Henry?"

"_The Dark Knight_," he answered without hesitation. Emma turned to glare at him accusingly.

"I thought I said you weren't allowed to see that movie," she reminded him. "It's really violent." Henry's mouth hung open, realizing his mistake.

"I, uh—" He looked down at his lap. "I saw it at Grace's house," he admitted. Emma turned her gaze to Jefferson.

"You let them watch it?" she asked.

"I didn't know!" Jefferson said defensively, holding up his hands. "I couldn't sit through _The Avengers_ a fiftieth time."

"Emma's turn," Grace said loudly, putting an end to the brief diversion, at least for the time being.

"Fine, um, _The Breakfast Club_," Emma said disinterestedly. "Jefferson? Wait, no," she interrupted before he could speak, "I can guess this." She tapped her chin in thought. Jefferson pretended to be all mysterious, but she felt like she could pin him down. He wasn't such an enigma, after all, and she would prove it. "It'll be something weird. Something by Tim Burton?"

Jefferson shook his head with a slight smile. "All due respect to Tim Burton, but my favorite isn't one of his," he said, leaning back in his chair and watching Emma try to guess.

"_Inception_, then," Emma tried. She'd had to watch that movie five times before she understood the first scene, let alone the rest of the movie. That seemed like the sort of thing Jefferson would be into.

"Nope, not that either," Jefferson said smugly. "Want me to tell you?"

Emma thought another moment before scowling. "Fine."

"_The Matrix_."

"That's so typical," Emma said, shaking her head. "Honestly, I should've guessed. With men it's either _The Matrix_ or _The Godfather_."

"And all girls like _The Breakfast Club_," Jefferson retorted.

"My turn to ask a question," Henry said. It looked like he and Grace were going to have to jump in every time Emma and Jefferson leapt at each other's throats. This was going to be a long evening. "What's everyone's favorite book? I like _The Lightning Thief_."

Emma was aware of Henry's love for the _Percy Jackson_ books. He came home with a different one every day. She was pretty sure he'd read them all twenty times. "Me next?" she said. "Okay… _The Golden Compass_. I was never a reader like Henry, and it's the only book I ever really liked as a kid."

"You want to guess mine again?" Jefferson asked her before he gave his answer. Emma shook her head.

"I don't know enough about books," she admitted, "But if you say _Alice in Wonderland_—"

"No," Jefferson said. "No, actually mine's _The Da Vinci Code_."

"And I like _Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire_," Grace said. "So that makes it Emma's turn."

The evening went on in much that fashion. Henry and Grace for the most part already knew each other's answers, but Emma and Jefferson ended up learning a great deal about each other: their dream vacation spots, their most embarrassing moments, their ideal superpowers (that had been one of Henry's questions), their dream jobs, their preferences in music, and their worst fears (Emma hated rats, and Jefferson had a deep-seeded aversion to anything that could take off his head).

At last it came Henry's turn again, and the tenth and final question: "If you only had one wish, but you could wish for anything, what would you wish for?"

Henry, of course, went first. "I'd wish for everyone to always have a happy ending," he said. Emma couldn't help but smile, even though it was a sappy thing to say.

"I'd wish for more wishes," Emma said.

Jefferson frowned. "I'd wish to speak with my wife again, one last time," he said in a low voice, staring out the window into the darkening night. Grace bit her lip.

"I'd wish to meet her."

XXX

_**Later that evening…**_

Once she and Henry arrived at home, Emma couldn't stop thinking about what Jefferson had said. She supposed she must have known he'd had a wife or girlfriend – Grace had to have come from somewhere – but she'd never given it much conscious thought. And it wasn't like Jefferson needed to know anything about Neal. So why should she care about Jefferson's wife, or any of his past relationships?

She shouldn't. And she didn't. Right?

"Are you alright, Mom?" Henry asked, noticing her troubled expression. Emma chose her words carefully before speaking.

"Henry, what do you know about Grace's mother?" she asked. Henry was caught off guard by the question; he fidgeted uneasily.

"Not much," he admitted. "Not really anything." He paused, squinting at Emma, trying to figure out what this was all about, but as it happened, both his moms had perfect poker faces, and he'd never been much good at reading into either of them. So he asked. "Why?"

Emma only shook her head. "No reason. Go get ready for bed, okay?"

She sat up watching reruns of one of her favorite medical dramas until she passed out on the sofa.


	5. All About My Heart

**Parent Trapped**

**Chapter 5: All About My Heart**

_A/N: Jefferson's coming down with something, surely._

XXX

_**Saturday, July 13th…**_

The fourth Saturday after their first two-family Saturday dinner, Emma came to Jefferson's house. Jefferson opened his front door and was surprised not to find the smiling young Henry standing in front of his mother on the doorstep.

"No Henry today?" he asked. Emma shook her head; she had on a grave expression, which gave Jefferson an unsettling feeling in the pit of his stomach. He didn't know what it was that set him on edge. What reason had he to be worried? No reason at all. There was nothing he could possibly be worried about. So the feeling in his stomach must have been… something else. Indigestion. Nausea. Maybe he'd caught some sort of stomach bug. If that was the case, he should probably warn Emma. With her job, and taking care of Henry, she couldn't afford to get sick.

All this ran very quickly through Jefferson's head in the time it took Emma to answer.

"Just you and me," Emma said. She held his gaze and wouldn't look away. It made Jefferson uncomfortable, this intense gaze, but he didn't dare break it. Or maybe he couldn't. Maybe he didn't _want_ to look away.

What a strange thought. What was wrong with him today?

"Is there any particular reason for that?" he asked, somehow – _somehow_ – managing to keep the uncertainty from his voice. Where was Grace? Maybe he should call her down, he thought. Then at least it wouldn't just be him and Emma. It was uncomfortable, just the two of them. Probably because he'd kidnapped her. They'd never been alone, really, since then.

But Emma had wanted to speak to him alone; it was why she hadn't brought Henry. Jefferson would just have to get over these pointless jitters that were probably just the result of food poisoning or something.

"Actually," Emma said, letting herself in and stepping past Jefferson, eyes still fixed on his, "Yes." Jefferson swallowed, feeling a little shell-shocked at Emma's forwardness.

On a side note, he was definitely coming down with something. He couldn't think of any other reason his stomach would be churning like this. He needed Emma to get to the point quickly so he could get her out of his house before she caught whatever illness of which he was currently experiencing symptoms. Unless it wasn't something contagious, like food poisoning, but even in that case the point still stood. He didn't want to throw up on Emma. Or anyone.

"I wanted to ask," Emma began slowly, finally looking away as she walked into the living room, trailed by Jefferson, "About Grace's mother."

Jefferson nearly tripped over his own feet. '_No_,' he wanted to say. '_Not that. Anything but that._'

Emma gave Jefferson a meaningful look, searching his face for signs that she had crossed some sort of line. He knew he had to say something, but he was at a loss for words, his mind inundated with memories of his late wife.

"Grace's mother," he repeated instead, because he couldn't say anything else. He walked over to one of the long, large windows at the side of the house, moving as if in a trance. He took a deep breath, thinking how he was going to do this. How he would handle it, especially in his current state.

"I'm sorry, I know it's not really… personal question," Emma said. She looked and sounded more unsure than Jefferson had ever seen her. Of course, even she knew this must be a delicate subject for him. "But Henry doesn't know, Grace hasn't told him. And I… I don't know why, but some part of me just has to know the truth."

The truth. Jefferson knew how much Emma valued honesty and truth, and he could never lie to her.

Wait, why would he think that? Of course he could lie to her. Right? There was nothing keeping him from it. He felt no loyalty to Emma, beyond their children's friendship and the fact that she'd broken the curse. But there was nothing personal about their relationship. They merely tolerated each other, and perhaps over the past few weeks had developed a tentative acquaintanceship, but nothing beyond that. Jefferson didn't have to tell her anything. And he wouldn't.

Why did she want to know in the first place? Why had she come all this way, alone, just to ask about her ex-kidnapper's dead wife? Why did she care?

Now that was an interesting thought. Why _did_ she care? Why did Emma care about Grace's mother, about Jefferson's wife? It wasn't her business, even as the Sheriff. Even if they were friends – which he wasn't sure they were – it still wouldn't be within her rights to ask. And no doubt she knew that. But she had asked anyway.

And it was because of this, because Emma had done something so unpredictable and so completely without precedent, that Jefferson decided he should tell her. He didn't know why, except that a small, long-forgotten part of himself recognized this as just the sort of impertinent, bold, and intrusive thing that Grace's mother used to do. She was always asking questions she had no business asking, and she'd do it shamelessly, without a second's hesitation and no manner of thought whatsoever.

This was around the point when Jefferson became aware of the cause of his stomachache. It wasn't indigestion; it wasn't a virus. This was the first time he'd been around a woman his own age since Grace's mother died. And he wasn't sure he knew how to handle that sort of interaction anymore.

He was pretty sure something inside him had broken since then.

Jefferson had never told anyone but Grace what had happened to the girl's mother. Rumplestiltskin knew, because he'd been involved – he'd been involved in everyone's lives in the old world – in the events that had led to the loss of Grace's mother. Belle might know, too, if Rumplestiltskin had told her. But no one else.

"I don't know where to begin," Jefferson admitted. He stared down at his hands folded on the windowsill. Emma took a seat on the sofa a short distance behind him, crossing her legs and leaning forward with her hands on her knees.

"Were you married?" Emma asked, prompting him. Jefferson squeezed his eyes shut against the flood of memories.

"I was," he choked out. If he'd been less distracted, he might have noticed the strange quality in Emma's voice. He might have even identified it as shame and, strangely, envy. But he wouldn't have known the reason behind it, because that had to do with an entirely different story that she wouldn't tell him until much, much later.

"Oh." Pause. "To Grace's mother?" Emma confirmed. Jefferson managed a nod. His knuckles were white from gripping the windowsill. He couldn't talk about this. He didn't have it in him. He wouldn't fall apart, not in front of Emma, although he had no idea why it made a difference if he did, why it was so inexplicably important to him that he not screw this up.

Maybe he just needed to prove to himself that he could still do this sort of thing.

He felt sick.

An even longer paused transpired as Emma quietly pondered what to say next.

"What was her name?"

'_Please_,' Jefferson silently begged her, squeezing his eyes shut. '_Please don't make me say it._' "Alice."

He heard Emma scoff, and spun around to face her, feeling insulted and indignant. "Sorry," she said quickly when she realized she'd offended him. She held up her hands, offering a nonverbal truce. "I just… Alice." She chuckled mirthlessly and shook her head, massaging her temples with one hand. "It figures."

Jefferson gave Emma a questioning look, but she shook her head dismissively. "Never mind," she told him. There was another, even lengthier pause during which their gazes held and Jefferson wished they could just drop the subject. But Emma wasn't finished with him.

"What was she like?" she asked. Her voice was quiet, almost timid, like she was afraid she'd gone too far in her questioning. Jefferson answered tonelessly, because it was the only way to keep his voice from breaking.

"Smart," he told her. "Independent." He broke eye contact and stared down at his polished shoes. "She had one of the best imaginations I've ever known."

"She sounds lovely," Emma assured him. Something in her voice sounded vaguely disappointed. What had she expected Jefferson to say? Did she expect him to launch into a detailed summary of his previous marriage to a woman she'd never even met, never even seen? What could she possibly want from him?

"She was," was all Jefferson said. And then, "You remind me of her sometimes." Where on earth had that come from? "Except when you don't."

Jefferson honestly had no idea what he was saying. Emma had never once reminded him of Alice. Emma was strong-willed, stubborn, and closed-off. Alice was… enchanting. Inquisitive. She saw all the good in the world. She saw the good in him where he hadn't known there was any.

Alice made Jefferson feel out of his element, awkward, clumsy, incapable.

Actually, he was feeling pretty much the same way right then.

Emma was standing now. She took a hesitant step towards Jefferson, her hand twitching toward him. He flinched, and she recoiled, looking as though she was snapping out of a daydream or a trance.

"You really are mad," she mused. There was a soft, airy quality to her voice that Jefferson had never heard from her before.

"I'm aware." One corner of his mouth twitched up slightly, a completely involuntary movement. Emma took a step towards him again, and her hand touched his arm. He stared at it, and he didn't know what to do, because the last time he'd spoken to a woman alone like this before was with Alice and he'd been a very different man then.

"What happened?" Emma asked. Jefferson got chills thinking about it.

"She died," he answered matter-of-factly. Emma blinked, clearly expecting more of an answer.

"That's it?" she said when he didn't elaborate. "That's it, she died?"

Jefferson's face hardened. He didn't like being asked about Alice. He didn't like to think about it. He didn't want to think about it. He didn't want to _think_. He wanted to forget, but he'd lost his chance even to do that, thanks to Regina. "That's all you need to know."

"Jefferson." When had she gotten so close? "Tell me what happened." Why was she so desperate to know? Because that much was clear; Emma _was_ desperate. Jefferson could recognize the signs of desperation from a mile off. He knew desperation, had a close personal relationship with it.

He would tell her. He didn't know why, he didn't know what had persuaded him or when he had decided it. Maybe it was Emma's hand on his arm, such a comforting gesture, the sort of thing Alice used to do when she needed him to open up about something. Or maybe it was the imploring tone of her voice.

Maybe he'd been looking for someone to confide in.

"It's not a pretty story," he warned. Emma gazed at him insistently.

"Tell me anyway."


	6. Chasing Rabbits

**Parent Trapped**

**Chapter 6: Chasing Rabbits**

_A/N: Grace's favorite bedtime story, part 1 of 2._

_Disclaimer: None of this is canon. Not even a little bit. Enjoy it anyway. My take on the story of the Hatter and Grace's mother. A very long chapter. You've been warned._

XXX

_**Many years ago, in the Enchanted Forest…**_

Lady Alice was the daughter of a wealthy Count in King Midas's prosperous realm. She had a distant relationship with her parents, even as their only child, and spent most of her childhood running from nursemaids and entertaining her imaginary friends. She had a very powerful imagination, it was said, though most looked down on this ability with inherent disapproval. Creativity, it seemed, did not a proper lady make.

Being somewhat rebellious in nature, Lady Alice never saw herself growing up to live a life like her mother's, who had married young and rich and settled down as a proper gentlewoman in high society. Alice could never learn to speak only when spoken to and do as she was expected. She always knew she wanted more out of life than what her parents had planned.

So when Alice's father arranged for her to be courted by a wealthy, powerful, insufferably boring Duke upon her eighteenth birthday, she requested that she first be allowed one year – no more, no less – to travel throughout the realms before she gracefully accepted her lot in life. Her father granted this one wish, on the condition that Alice indeed return home and marry the Duke without complaints.

Alice had no intentions of fulfilling her end of the bargain, but she kept this to herself and in no time at all and for the first time in her life found herself leaving behind the comforts of home and embarking on a real adventure.

No expenses were spared in the arrangements for Alice's journey. Although he never quite understood her, Count Charles loved his daughter very much and only wanted what was best for her. He arranged for a carriage and a small escort to take Alice to King Leopold's court, in the neighboring kingdom, where she was sure to find a warm welcome from Leopold's wife Regina and daughter Snow.

One week after Alice's departure, the Count got word that the Lady Alice had disappeared without a trace when the traveling party was camped for the night in the woods.

Her body was never found, but after several months with no sign of her anywhere in the realms, she was declared missing, presumed dead.

XXX

_**Meanwhile, miles from home…**_

"Keep up, then, milady."

A short, ferrety man with hair as white as snow and whiskers on his face went crashing through the woods, wearing a three-piece suit of clashing colors. He pulled a golden pocket watch from his bright red waistcoat and sucked in a breath through his very large teeth. "We're late!" he announced impatiently. He shook his head and quickened his pace.

Behind the man, a fair blonde woman of nineteen or so years followed intrepidly. Her hair was in loose, unkempt curls barely contained by the black silk ribbon tied round her head. Her dress was a pale dusty blue beneath her thick black cloak, and her black boots were caked with so many layers of mud and muck so as to be barely recognizable.

Although she didn't look much, the young woman, whose name was Alice, had spent the last year traveling through the deserts of the Far East. She'd been on all sorts of adventures, and this was promising to be the grandest of them all. Upon returning to the familiar kingdoms of the Enchanted Forest, she'd come upon a man – the whiskery fellow walking two steps ahead of her, in fact – who claimed he could take her somewhere few had ever been before.

For the trouble this man was putting her through, Alice thought, he'd better be taking her somewhere spectacular.

"I'm trying to keep up," Alice griped. Something squelched beneath her foot; she didn't look back to see what it was (by then she'd learned not to). "If only you'd tell me where we were going!" After all, she'd paid this man, who called himself White – just White – to give her the adventure of her life. Was it really so much to ask that he at the very least reveal how they would be getting there?

But Mr. White said nothing, just continued leading Alice through the woods.

They eventually came to a grassy clearing of sorts, abandoned except for a deer, which was started off by their presence. A large, rotting stump was the area's only defining feature. The grass beneath their feet gradually receded, so that the area surrounding the stump was bare, just a circular patch of dry, cracking dirt.

Almost as soon as Mr. White approached the circle of dirt, Alice felt the ground shake beneath her feet. She stumbled, throwing out her arms for balance, eyes bugging out in shock and fear. The cracks in the dirt deepened into fissures before her eyes, lengthening to form a pattern across the entire clearing, continuing to break apart the ground until it fell away, revealing a deep, dark, jagged hole, about three feet in diameter, that seemed to stretch on forever into the blackest depths of the earth.

"What just happened?!" Alice demanded of Mr. White when the world was once again still. Her guide turned to her. He looked completely unfazed by the strange, unnatural phenomenon that had just occurred.

Mr. White was looking at his pocket watch again. "Right on time, as always," he observed, more to himself than to Alice. He snapped the pocket watch shut and stuffed it into his waistcoat, gesturing grandly toward the large hole in the ground. "Our means of transportation," he said. "After you." Alice gaped.

"You expect me to go down there?" she said, dumbfounded. "I'll die!"

"You'll fall, but you'll live," Mr. White assured her unsympathetically. "Go on. The portal won't stay open forever, and we'll have to wait an entire week if you miss it this time around."

Alice continued to stare at her guide like he'd gone mad. Mr. White sighed and rolled his eyes, clearly exasperated by his companion's behavior. "You said you wanted an adventure," he reminded her, quoting what she'd said to him when they'd first met in that inn all those weeks ago, her the lonely traveler in pursuit of the next new thing, him the eccentric, twitchy stranger with an unprecedented knowledge of strange places. "This is your chance."

Considering this, Alice took a hesitant step towards the ominous pit. It occurred to her that Mr. White could very well be lying to her. It was quite possible that he didn't intend on taking her anywhere, that he'd only wanted her money and now he would ensure she didn't live to tell the tale.

'_But if he wanted to kill me_,' Alice reasoned, '_I'm sure he could've done it by now._'

Before she had the chance to doubt herself, Alice braced herself, and took the plunge.

XXX

_**Down the Rabbit Hole…**_

She was creeping through a winding corridor. The walls seemed to tilt inwards and were painted a stark, headache-inducing white. The floors were checkered black-and-red, like a chessboard.

At the sound of approaching footsteps, Alice ducked behind a conveniently placed rosebush growing straight up from the floor tiles. She attempted to peek between the leaves and punctured her skin on a thorn. She sucked in her breath to suppress an exclamation of pain as a bead of crimson blood pooled on the tip of her finger. The passing figure – an armed guard dressed entirely in white and wearing a uniform of armor that vaguely resembled a giant chess piece – walked by without taking notice of the young woman crouching by the wall. Once he was safely out of earshot, Alice carried on.

She didn't know where she was. She'd been separated from Mr. White a while back. Partway through the tour he was giving her of this strange world he called Wonderland, they'd been separated in a labyrinth of roses – "Everyone in Wonderland travels by labyrinth," Mr. White had explained distastefully. "Terribly inconvenient, if you ask me." – and one thing led to another, and before she even realized she was lost, Alice found herself in this never-ending corridor.

"I suppose I could turn around and retrace my steps," Alice said to herself, thinking aloud as she often did. "That wouldn't be very adventurous of me though." She frowned. "I know I said I wanted an adventure, but this is ridiculous."

Alice contemplated her current predicament and was indeed so lost in thought that she didn't hear a second set of footsteps pounding toward her at a sprint until they were nearly upon her. She spun around and let out an exclamation of surprise when—_CRASH_. The running man collided with her head on.

He was tall and handsome, with dark brown, untamed hair and the whitest teeth she'd ever seen; he wore a top hat and a traveler's cloak. He was panting and sweating, bent forward with his hands on his knees.

Having overcome her initial shock of the impact, Alice opened her mouth to express her indignation at having been so roughly assaulted. She didn't get a chance to speak before the man seized her wrist in one gloved hand and tugged her within whispering distance. He said to her then the single word she would remember as the first thing he ever spoke to her:

"Run."

XXX

_**On the other end of the hat…**_

Alice sat against a stone wall in a room of an unfamiliar castle in awkward silence. She turned the black silk top hat over and over in her hands. He mind reeled with questions. The man – she'd learned by then that his name was Jefferson – paced on the other side of the smallish room.

At last Alice could bear it no longer. "You've told me I can't leave this room and you've told me you can't tell me what we're waiting for; can you at _least_ tell me who you are and what's going on?" she burst out, perhaps more aggressively than she'd intended. "I've been dragged across an unfamiliar place by a man I've never met, nearly killed several times, and it turns out all this time you had a magic portal that could have taken us home straightaway!"

Jefferson spun around, pinning Alice with an accusatory finger. She shrank under his fiery gaze. "You, my lady, are lucky I found you when I did," he snapped. "If the anyone had caught you lurking in her labyrinth, you could've very well lost your head. Wonderlandians don't take kindly to strangers, and I should know."

He crossed the room with sharp footsteps, snatched his hat from her hands, and, with a flourish, placed it back on his head. "As for why I did not simply take you home right then and there, I had business to take care of and I wasn't going to throw that all away in pursuit of chivalry or heroics or whatever outdated code of honor you expected me to adhere to. In case you haven't noticed, I'm not the sort of dashing warrior who rescues the damsel and rides off into the sunset."

"Clearly," Alice said scathingly. This man was beginning to rub her the wrong way. True he'd been a bit rude in Wonderland, but then they'd been running for their lives. That had been acceptable. Here, out of harm's way – at least she hoped so – the least he could do was talk to her like he didn't completely regret taking her with him.

"I didn't have to take you with me at all, in fact," Jefferson informed her. "I knew you would only get in the way, and you did. I nearly lost an arm thanks to your clumsiness; thank goodness it wasn't my head. I wouldn't have picked you up in the first place if I didn't need a second person to come through the portal with me. I went in with another and couldn't have him following."

"What were you doing in Wonderland anyway?" Alice asked. "What sort of 'business' could have brought you there?"

"I might ask the same of you," Jefferson retorted. "Stupid girl, looking for an adventure in places you ought not be meddling. How did you get to Wonderland in the first place, pray tell?"

"I paid a man called White to take me there," Alice said haughtily. Jefferson shook his head.

"I should have known," he muttered to himself, wrinkling his nose disdainfully. "That weasel doesn't have enough of a brain to know what's good for him. I do wonder how you found him then?" he asked, directing this at Alice.

"I happened upon him in a tavern, but if you're going to be so rude then perhaps I won't tell you where," Alice said, crossing her arms. Jefferson sneered.

"'Happened upon him,' did you? And I suppose you thought you'd just do a little sightseeing and go straight home? I don't suppose you knew how dangerous it would be?"

Alice snapped her mouth shut, feeling chastised. No, she hadn't known how dangerous Wonderland would be. She'd hardly given it any manner of thought whatsoever. She'd been so anxious for an adventure that she'd never stopped to think about how little she knew about where she was going and who was taking her there, or, more importantly, how she would get out. It was indeed lucky she'd run into Jefferson when she did, or she might not have made it out at all.

"That's what I thought," Jefferson said smugly when Alice didn't answer. "You didn't know a thing. You just went bumbling in and nearly got yourself killed. And now I've got myself landed with some useless girl who can't even take care of herself."

"I can too take care of myself!" Alice protested, sounding very much like a whining toddler. "I'll have you know I journeyed to the Far East entirely unaccompanied, paid my way and was just fine on my own."

"So you thought a vacation to the Far East was enough to qualify you to start portal-jumping, then?" Jefferson scoffed. "How presumptuous. I suppose I'll have to take you home, then, won't I?"

Alice's eyes widened, and she leapt back to her feet. "No!" she exclaimed, desperate. "I'm not going anywhere near home!" An idea blossomed in her mind, and she made a proposal: "Perhaps I could assist you in some way? On your future 'business'?"

"Absolutely not," Jefferson said without delay. "I work alone. I travel for a living. When people need someone who can travel between worlds, I'm the one they ask. I'm the best in the business, not like that Mr. White with whom you're so familiar, and my services are in high demand. I must always be on the move, and you would only slow me down."

Feeling shot down and insulted, Alice frowned and crossed her arms over her chest, digging her heel into the stone floor. "Fine," she said bitterly. "But I won't go home and you can't make me. As soon as we get out of here we can go our separate ways and I'll never see you again." She paused, looking around at the sparsely furnished and dusty room. "Which brings me to my next question: Where, exactly, are we?"

"The portal returned me – and, by extension, you – to where I first jumped in," Jefferson explained shortly. "My employer lives here. The job was to get rid of a man who'd crossed him somewhere he'd never be found but wouldn't be lost. That's why I needed you."

"I don't follow," Alice said, confused.

"Of course you don't," Jefferson said patronizingly. "You don't know anything about this business." He held up the hat for her to see. "The sort of portal I use is better than White's Rabbit Holes. His only open at certain intervals and each only leads to one specific place. My hat, however, works at all times, I can carry it on my head, and it can take me anywhere I please." He twirled the hat and placed it back on his head. "The only drawback of this sort of portal is that, for this to work, the magic must be kept very stable. As many people as go in must also come out."

"So in order to shut the door behind you, you had to take someone else back through with you," Alice concluded, nodding her understanding.

"And that's where you came in. And that also answers one of your earlier questions."

"Which was that?" Alice asked.

"You asked me why you couldn't leave," Jefferson reminded her. "I need you here as proof that the man I got rid of is stuck where I left him."

"So I'm going to meet this employer of yours?" Alice asked. "Is that what we're waiting for? You say he lives here; can't we just go out and announce that we've—that you've done it?" Jefferson shook his head. '_Of course_,' Alice thought bitterly, '_Heaven forbid I actually be right about something._'

"He'll come up when he's back," Jefferson said. "Right now he's out, and he doesn't take kindly to anyone wandering about his castle without his supervision."

Alice wrinkled her nose in confusion. "So you mean to tell me he lives in this enormous castle all by himself?" she asked. "How on earth does he manage? Doesn't he get lonely? What kind of man is this?"

Jefferson took a seat in one of the two chairs in the room; there was also a table and a cabinet, which, upon attempting to open it, Alice had found locked. A wicked grin split Jefferson's face and sent a chill down Alice's spine. "He's… not exactly a man," he admitted. "Which is why I couldn't tell you what we're waiting for. If you knew, you'd run for your life."

Alice's eyes widened. "What do you mean, I'd—?" she began, but she was cut off by the door behind them being thrown open with a bang. Icy dread washed down Alice's spine as she slowly turned to face the man who was supposedly Jefferson's "employer." She clamped a hand over her mouth to suppress a scream when she saw who it was.

She recognized him in an instant. She'd never seen him in person, had only heard the stories, and she'd half believed they were made up to scare little children into doing as they were told, but here he was, bold as brass, clear as day, grinning like the cat that caught the canary. She took a few staggering steps back before the heel of her foot rammed the cabinet and she had to throw out her arms for balance. Jefferson raised an eyebrow at her, and the newcomer let out a bone-chilling high-pitched laugh.

"I see you've done what you set out to do," the Dark One said to Jefferson, who gave a dramatic bow.

"As always," Jefferson added with a satisfied smirk, still apparently drawing great amusement from Alice's reaction.

"Good choice of a replacement, I'm sure." The Dark One gestured dismissively to Alice. She cringed, and the scaly creature giggled again. "At least she's pretty."

What a horrid beast, Alice thought, wishing to be anywhere but there.

"You were working for _him_?" Alice said to Jefferson, honestly shocked that anyone, even someone so insufferable, could work for a creature so evil.

"What can I say?" Jefferson said with a shrug. "In my line of work, you don't get many respectable, law-abiding customers lining up for your services. I take what I can get. And Rumplestiltskin here always holds up his end of a bargain." He held out his hand expectantly, and the Dark One – Rumplestiltskin, apparently – doled him out a spool of what looked like golden thread.

"Is that gold?" Alice asked.

"Pure gold, dearie," the Dark One informed her. "I'm the only one who makes it." He changed the subject abruptly, turning again to Jefferson. "Since I have you here, how is the search for White going?" White? Did they mean Mr. White, Alice wondered? Who was searching for him, then?

"Apparently he's still taking customers," Jefferson said cryptically. "She was one of them." He gestured to Alice as if she wasn't even there hearing every word they said.

"If she could find him, I don't see why you can't," the Dark One said impatiently. "And it had better be soon. You wouldn't want me to have to go looking for him myself, would you?"

Jefferson paled. "No," he said adamantly, eyes wide and voice insistent. Obviously the Dark One was threatening him, though Alice didn't quite understand all of what was going on between them. "I'll find him, I swear."

So _they_ were the ones searching for Mr. White. "What do you want with him?" Alice interjected boldly, her curiosity getting the better of her. The Dark One's unfeeling eyes turned on her, and she shuddered. Clearly she hadn't thought before speaking.

"He owes me a debt, dearie," the Dark One said with a voice like a snake coiling around her throat, "And I intend to collect."

Alice wanted to run, flee, get out of that beast's castle and never look back, but all this talk was giving her an idea and she couldn't afford to give up an opportunity where she saw one. She stood up straight and steeled herself. She had to talk to Jefferson, alone.

So when the Dark One finally dismissed himself and Jefferson made clear that he intended to leave, Alice intercepted him at the door.

"Wait," she said, trying to sound confident instead of desperate, like she felt. Jefferson sighed.

"What?" he asked impatiently.

"What if I could help you find Mr. White?" she proposed. "Would you let me stay with you? As an assistant? If I could prove I can be useful—"

"I already said no," Jefferson said, cutting her off. He attempted to push past her but she wouldn't let him go.

"But he'll kill you if you don't do what he says!" she protested, referring to the Dark One.

"Oh, he'll do worse than kill me, I can assure you," Jefferson said grimly, "But I can handle it. I'll find White without your help. The last thing I need is dead weight dragging me down wherever I go."

"But I can be helpful!" Alice insisted. She needed this, and she wasn't sure why. Maybe she was tired of aimlessly wandering, and she knew she couldn't go home. This could be her chance to do something bold with her life. "Please, just give me a chance. I'll take you to Mr. White and let you have all the credit. You can take the Dark One's reward all for yourself. Just let me go traveling with you." She was begging now, and it was humiliating and undignified, but she couldn't go back home and she didn't know what else to do out in the world without an ally.

Jefferson clenched his teeth. "Fine," he finally said, and Alice let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. "I'll give you _one chance_. And if you can take me two White, I'll take you on as my assistant. But if you can't, you have to swear you'll leave me and never bother me again."

"I swear it," Alice instantly said. "Thank you so much. You won't regret this." Jefferson frowned.

"That remains to be seen."

XXX

_**And as a result…**_

Alice indeed led Jefferson to Mr. White, and it didn't take her very long to do it. Jefferson delivered White to the Dark One and claimed his reward. The Dark One turned White into a rabbit.

And this became the first of many adventures that would be shared by Jefferson the Hatter and his intrepid companion, Alice.

_**To be continued…**_


	7. Alone on the Journey

**Parent Trapped**

**Chapter 7: Alone on the Journey**

_A/N: Jefferson and Alice, part 2 of 2._

XXX

_**Over time…**_

If you asked him, he couldn't quite tell you how it happened. He would say he was in the middle before he knew he had begun.

But there it was. Against all odds, against his own good sense and better judgment, he'd fallen in love with his curious assistant, the brave young woman with the wild mane of hair and the strongest imagination he knew.

He would never forget their first kiss.

They were in Wonderland, running, of course, from the royal chessmen. Alice rounded the corner and nearly whacked into Jefferson, who was leaning against the wall, doubled over in exhaustion. She tucked a stray curl behind her ear, panting heavily. Jefferson straightened to look at her, used the excuse of steadying himself to lay a hand on one of her shoulders.

"I think… we lost them," Alice announced, glancing back over her shoulder just in case she'd jinxed it. When she spun back around, in that split second of movement, Jefferson took her in. Everything about her was familiar: the way her golden curls bounced on her shoulders, the dragon-hide gloves he'd bargained off a tradesman in the black market for some of the Dark One's golden thread, the dusty blue eyes that matched the dress she'd been wearing that first time they met, the black ribbon she still wore to keep her hair at bay.

Acting without thinking, Jefferson buried a hand in those untamed curls, closed the space between their faces. He stopped just short of what he'd been about to do, their lips an inch apart, closed his eyes, and breathed her in.

When had this happened, he absently wondered? Those nights they slept so near that sometimes they woke nose-to-nose, or with one of his arms slung across her shoulders, and in the morning they never said anything about it because it didn't mean anything, they were only companions. And when they'd gone without eating for several meals because they'd been on the move, and both felt lightheaded and weak, and he kept a hand at her elbow or on the small of her back just in case she collapsed; when had she become his first priority? How long had she been his only friend, his confidante?

Jefferson hadn't realized it at the time, but when Alice stepped into his life, his world had expanded to include her, and he was somehow the better for it.

When it became clear that Jefferson was too lost in his thoughts to make a move, Alice, bold as ever, leaned forward and planted a brief, smacking kiss on her lips, grinning when she pulled away. Jefferson's eyes were wide as saucers and his hand froze where it was tangled in Alice's hair. Alice grabbed his free hand, rubbing the back of it with her thumb, and jerked her head in the direction from whence they'd come, looking smug.

"We've done what we came to do," she said, her voice shattering the silence. "Let's get home before we're killed, eh?"

Jefferson's brain used the journey back to the Enchanted Forest, the mindless running, as a chance to catch up to what had just occurred. His legs screamed in protest as they sprinted, but Jefferson paid them no mind. The wheels in his brain spun a mile a minute, chasing around his thoughts, catching them and spreading them out to look at and squinting at them until they made sense.

By the time Alice pulled him through to the other side of the hat with both feet planted firmly on the ground, Jefferson knew exactly what he wanted.

He grabbed Alice's shoulders and kissed her like he needed her to breathe.

XXX

_**A year and a half later…**_

Theirs was a quick and spontaneous wedding. It might not even have been official, but it was to them and that was all that mattered.

They'd been on the run for so long they'd never stopped to consider having a place to call their own. Jefferson had a cabin in the woods that they used sometimes, but neither thought of it as their home. But with the prospect of a future family in the years to come, they resolved to fix the place up and stayed in it when they weren't traveling and dodging Jefferson's unfortunate list of enemies.

Three months into their marriage, Alice realized she was pregnant. She didn't tell Jefferson; she panicked, not knowing what would happen. Jefferson wouldn't allow her to accompany him on his travels if he knew. He'd become overprotective and paranoid, constantly worrying over Alice's safety, and she didn't want that. That was exactly what she'd run away from with her parents.

She considered hiding it – she didn't know how she would, once she began to show, but that was a bridge she would cross when she came to it – and trading the baby to the Dark One. She knew that among Rumplestiltskin's best customers were couples incapable of having children of their own. Alice would be willing to give up the child to a pair of total strangers if it meant the kid would grow up in a loving, stable home, as opposed to being raised by a pair of travelers and outlaws with zero parental instincts.

For about a month, Alice considered this a viable option. She was in the process of planning how she would sneak off to the Dark Castle without Jefferson knowing, but kept putting it off. It was upon extensive introspection that she came to a startling realization.

She actually _wanted_ to have a baby. She wanted to have a baby, and she wanted Jefferson to be the father. It was strange; the whole situation was unexpected and entirely unplanned. At eighteen, Alice had intended to remain independent and unattached, a wanderer always seeking the next adventure, the next thrill. Now, nearing her twenty-fourth birthday, she had a husband and a home, and in a matter of months she would have a baby. And she wanted it, all of it. The house, the husband, the son or daughter, the life she'd run away from, only this time with someone she loved.

The only question that remained was how and when she would tell Jefferson.

She had to tell him soon – at three months, Alice was starting to show visible signs of pregnancy – and if Jefferson found out on his own, found out Alice had kept it from him, he would be devastated. She couldn't let that happen.

They were in Wonderland again on business when they had a close encounter with the chopping block. Nearly losing her head seemed to set a few things straight in Alice's brain, and she made up her mind to tell Jefferson that night.

They were playing chess, one of their favorite pastimes. They had a little wooden hand-painted chess set with pieces the size of Alice's little finger. Their skills were fairly evenly matched; each was cunning and calculating in their own way. Alice favored her bishops, and Jefferson his castles. Neither much cared for knights, and Alice was far more judicious with her queen.

"I have to tell you something," Alice said seriously, though she found she couldn't meet Jefferson's gaze and instead stared at her hands clasped on the table. Her heart was pounding rapidly in her chest and she was having trouble breathing. She couldn't remember the last time she'd been this nervous. "I should have told you sooner, but I was afraid to."

At this, Alice felt Jefferson's eyes bore into her, and she had to look up. Her hands went self-consciously to her stomach. "I'm pregnant."

Jefferson froze, his hand hovering over his queen and his jaw slightly ajar. Alice shifted uncomfortably and finally burst out, "Oh, please say something." Her eyes pleaded with Jefferson, and he snapped out of his stupor and forced himself to speak.

"How far along are you?" he inquired, attempting to sound calm although his voice was trembling.

"Three months," Alice answered timidly, wincing when she saw the hurt and betrayal in Jefferson's eyes. "I'm sorry!" she immediately exclaimed. "I… I didn't know what… I'm sorry."

After a moment, Jefferson stood, crossed to where Alice sat, and placed his hand over hers on her stomach.

"I wish you hadn't kept it from me," he admitted, not breaking her gaze. His eyes filled with worry. "Today, in Wonderland—"

Alice cut him off; she knew what he was going to say. "That's what finally persuaded me to tell you," she said. "I wasn't sure if I wanted this—"

"And it's not too late to change your mind," Jefferson reminded her.

"I know," Alice said. "I've considered all my options. But I decided that… that I do want it. I want this." She took his hands and looked up at him with sincerity. "I want us to be a family. And I know you'll tell me you won't allow me to travel with you anymore, and I agree. It isn't safe for the baby. But I also think, after the child is born, maybe you should think about quitting as well."

"Alice, I couldn't," Jefferson protested, but Alice was adamant.

"Hear me out," she begged. "It's a perfectly reasonable request. This child needs a father, and I need to know that my husband is safe. I can't be constantly worrying that something has happened and you aren't coming back. That's no way to raise a child."

"I will always come back for you," Jefferson said, but Alice shook her head.

"I can't know that."

"You must." He kissed her, deeply, reassuringly. "But if it really means that much to you, I can quit. As soon as the baby is born, I'll never travel again, I promise."

XXX

_**Six months later…**_

Alice was due any day, and Jefferson hated to leave her at such a time, but Rumplestiltskin had promised him double the usual amount for this particular job, and if Jefferson truly planned to quit traveling after the baby was born, he couldn't afford to pass up this opportunity.

"This is the last time I'll ever leave you," Jefferson assured Alice when he left her at their cabin that day. Alice had been worried, but she trusted him. She nodded and embraced him as he went out the door.

"Don't you dare die on me, Jefferson," she told him firmly, biting her lip as she released him.

"I'll come back," Jefferson promised. "I'll always come back for you. For both of you." He placed a hand on Alice's stomach, kissed her once, and darted out the door.

He completed the job as efficiently as possible, in and out with next to no fuss, and when he returned, collected his payment and hitched a ride on a passing wagon that was headed in the direction of his home.

When he burst through the door, Alice was nowhere to be seen.

"Alice?" he called out. He couldn't let himself worry; he'd only just walked in the door. If she wasn't answering, she was either taking a stroll (she insisted on taking walks through the forest despite the fact that she was liable to go into labor at the drop of a hat) or taking a nap. There was no reason for anything to be wrong.

But nothing was ever so simple. Alice was indeed in their bedroom, gasping and clutching her stomach. She let out a loud expletive when Jefferson entered the room. He was at her side in a minute; she clenched her teeth and dug her nails into his arm.

"Ow! Alice!" Jefferson immediately regretted his outburst when Alice glared up at him.

"Oh, I'm sorry, did that hurt?" she snapped. "I was a bit preoccupied with _giving birth_."

Jefferson's eyes bulged. "Are you… are you sure?" he stammered. Alice couldn't answer, only nodded and groaned, clutching herself in pain. Jefferson leapt to his feet.

"How much longer do you think you have?" he asked quickly. "Should I get the midwife?"

"_Yes_," Alice ground out from between her teeth.

Jefferson and Alice had gone to the nearest town weeks before to request the services of the local midwife. The woman, Marabeth, was a middle-aged, childless widow; her husband had died before he could give her any children, but her young niece Nora lived with and assisted her. The pair of them accompanied Jefferson back to his cabin, where Alice was still in a significant amount of pain. Jefferson knelt beside her as Marabeth and Nora set to work.

"We should have a while yet before it's time to push," Marabeth said in her no-nonsense, businesslike tone, instructing Nora to strip the nice sheets off the bed and help make Alice comfortable. "I'd give it about an hour, by my estimate," Marabeth concluded. And so the wait began.

Half an hour later, it seemed things were progressing faster than Marabeth had anticipated. "It's fine, it's fine," Marabeth assured them. "Nothing out of the ordinary. We're ready whenever the baby is." She gave Jefferson a tight smile and turned to give Nora further instruction. The girl nodded and darted out of the room.

Alice groaned and, a moment later, sat up suddenly. Marabeth shoved Jefferson aside to stand by Alice. "What is it, dear?" she asked. Alice shook her head and shoved Marabeth away just before bending over and vomiting onto the floor. Jefferson let out a shout.

"Alice!" he exclaimed. Nora was immediately cleaning up the mess with one of the wet rags she had ready, and Marabeth fetched a bucket for Alice to be sick into. Alice continued to heave even after there wasn't anything left in her.

"What's going on?" Jefferson demanded of Nora, since Marabeth was busy tending to Alice. He knew this wasn't normal; he didn't know much about pregnancy or birth, but he knew this wasn't normal.

Nora looked frightened. "It could be nothing," she said, quiet and timid, her eyes wide like a startled animal. She tucked her straw-colored hair behind her ears. "Or it could be bad." Jefferson lowered his voice and leveled her with a stony gaze.

"How bad?" he asked, voice taut and unyielding. Nora bit her lip.

"I… I don't…"

"_How bad_?" Jefferson demanded, loudly this time.

"I don't know!" Nora exclaimed. "It could be very bad! The baby could die, or… or her." Her voice trailed off and she looked up at Jefferson nervously.

Jefferson went cold. He looked at Alice, still hunched over the bucket, crying hysterically, and made up his mind.

He ran out the door.

By this point in his life, Jefferson was quite familiar with magic. He didn't use much of it himself, aside from the hat, but he knew how magic worked, especially dark magic. And he knew how the Dark One functioned. If you called the Dark One's name, he would hear you.

"RUMPLESTILTSKIN!" he screamed into the empty forest, scaring away a few innocent songbirds that flew off into the sky. He shouted it over and over until that familiar, high-pitched, lilting voice sounded behind him.

"No need to shout," the Dark One teased, and Jefferson rounded on him. He probably looked like a rabid animal, with his hair sticking up and his clothes in complete disarray, but he didn't care. If Alice's life was at stake, he would do whatever it took.

"My wife could be dying," Jefferson said, straining to keep from yelling at possibly the only person who could do anything about it. "I need you to help me. Please."

Rumplestiltskin at least had the decency to wipe away his gleaming, sharp-toothed grin and regard Jefferson with a certain degree of seriousness. He raised an eyebrow. "Show me where she is and I'll see what I can do, but I can't promise anything."

That was about what Jefferson had expected. He led Rumplestiltskin inside; Nora, who was bustling about the house, was the first to see the two of them reentering. She froze, dropped everything in her hands and stared at Rumplestiltskin. He snapped his teeth at her; she screamed and pressed herself up against the farthest wall, and Rumplestiltskin laughed sadistically before following Jefferson into the bedroom.

Alice was twitching, going rigid, and Marabeth looked like she didn't know what to do.

"What's happening to her?" Jefferson demanded. Marabeth looked up at her, saw Rumplestiltskin and gasped.

"Is that—?" she began, but Jefferson didn't have time for this.

"Yes, don't worry, just do the job I'm paying you for," he said harshly, dismissing the issue. "Answer my question."

"I… I've seen it before," Marabeth stammered, prying her eyes off the Dark One standing just behind Jefferson. "It's a rare complication, and it's impossible to tell how severe the damages will be. It could harm the baby. It could put the mother into a coma, or kill her."

"What can we do?" Jefferson asked.

"At this point, there's nothing I can do to stop it," Marabeth said. Jefferson's eyes narrowed, and he roughly shoved the woman away from the bed.

"Get out of my way," he growled. Rumplestiltskin hovered over Alice, quickly examining her.

"I don't know what can be done," he admitted.

"You'd better not just be saying that," Jefferson said to him. "If you're holding out to make some deal, just know I'll repay you however you want. Take anything, just save my wife and child."

"I'll see what I can do," the Dark One said. He motioned toward the door. "You may want to wait outside."

"I'm staying with Alice," Jefferson said stubbornly. There was a brief moment where Rumplestiltskin's eyes met his, and Jefferson saw in them a flash of emotion he'd never seen before.

"If it comes to the worst, you won't want to be here," Rumplestiltskin told him. "You don't want to watch your wife die."

His words were like a knife to Jefferson's heart. He staggered back, cast one last glance at Alice, and left the room, shutting the door behind him.

The only thing left to do was wait, and hope for the best.

XXX

_**Meanwhile…**_

For Alice, everything went by in flashes of sound and light and color. After she'd thrown up the entire contents of her stomach, she'd started uncontrollably twitching and everything had gone dark. Occasional snippets of sound – Marabeth rushing about, Jefferson yelling and shouting, the sound of Nora's scream in the other room – registered in her brain, but she couldn't think, couldn't make anything of what was going on. She felt herself convulsing and thought for sure she was going to die.

And then, for a moment, everything was silent. Was this death, then? Darkness, silence, nothingness. She had no control over her own body; she couldn't even feel her body. Would it just be this, this nothingness, this lack of sensation for the rest of eternity?

But her eyes shot open and she wasn't dead, at least she didn't seem to be. She was still in bed, still hurting like hell, and if she'd been any more present she might have thought it odd that the Dark One himself was standing over her, looking down at her with deep concentration, muttering under his breath. But she couldn't think straight, and she just knew she was alive.

Her cracked lips parted, and Rumplestiltskin's eyes shot to her face with a look of mild surprise. "Can you hear me?" he asked.

Alice found she couldn't move her head to nod, but she managed to croak out a hoarse, "Yes."

"Good," Rumplestiltskin said, without any expression or hint of emotion. "Your husband summoned me here. You were giving birth. Do you remember?"

Giving birth. Yes, that's what had been happening when the vomiting had started. "Yes," she said again, still unable to move.

"There was a complication," the Dark One continued to explain. "That's why I was summoned. You were dying. Jefferson wants me to save you."

"Can you?" Alice managed, though she found she couldn't summon much of a will to care either way. But she knew Jefferson would be devastated if she died. And she couldn't do that to him.

"I can," Rumplestiltskin said, but he hesitated. Alice waited for the catch; there was always a catch. "But… not both of you."

Alice knew at once what he meant, but he elaborated all the same. "It's you or the baby," he told her. Alice's heart stopped.

Her or the baby. A year ago that would've been an easy choice; a year ago she wouldn't have even wanted to be a mother.

She supposed the choice was still an easy one to make. But she wouldn't be choosing the same.

"The baby," Alice said without hesitation. Rumplestiltskin squinted at her.

"Are you sure?" he asked. Alice didn't know what the reason for the Dark One's hesitation was. It didn't occur to her to wonder. She was focused only on one thing: She was about to die. And she was ready to, for the baby.

But Jefferson…

"Yes," she said before she could change her mind. "I'm sure."

"Do you want to see Jefferson before…?" Rumplestiltskin asked, unsure if he should call Alice's husband into the room.

"No," Alice decided. If Jefferson knew what she was about to do, he would never let her go through with it. She had to do this on her own.

"Anything you want to say to him before you go?"

Alice squinted at Rumplestiltskin. In the few years she'd done business with the Dark One, she'd gone from fearing him to almost respecting him, in a strange way, and yet this was a side she'd never imagined him having. "Tell him I love him," she said, with a strange quality to her voice. "Tell him this was my choice."

"And the baby? It's a girl." Alice didn't ask him how he knew. But she knew what he was asking.

"Grace," she said. It was the girl name she'd had in mind. She hadn't told Jefferson, but she knew he would like it. Rumplestiltskin nodded.

"I'm going to let you go now," he warned her.

"I'm ready." Rumplestiltskin muttered under his breath again, presumably some magic spell. Alice's lips quirked into the semblance of a smile. And that was all.

XXX

_**In the other room…**_

Rumplestiltskin emerged with a bundle of blankets, which he promptly and unceremoniously dumped into Jefferson's arms.

"It's a girl," he said. Jefferson looked up, his eyes wide and painfully ignorant.

"Did Alice name her?" he asked, turning his gaze back to the miracle in his arms. Her eyes were closed, and she was still messy from the womb, but she was beautiful and she was his.

"Grace," the Dark One told him. Jefferson smiled.

"Can I see her?" he said, inquiring after Alice. The Dark One didn't respond right away, and that was when Jefferson knew something was wrong. "What?" he asked. It was barely a question; it was an accusation. He clutched his child protectively. "What did you do to my wife?"

"I couldn't save them both," Rumplestiltskin said, not apologetic nor hurtful, his voice just flat and toneless. "I kept her alive long enough to ask. She wanted the child to live. She chose to die."

"What?" Jefferson exclaimed. He pushed past Rumplestiltskin into the bedroom, and sure enough, there Alice lay, eyes peacefully shut, unresponsive, stomach not rising nor falling, completely still.

"Alice!" he shouted, minding the baby's head as he knelt at her side. This couldn't be happening. She couldn't be dead. Hot tears streamed from his eyes as he pleaded with her, though she could not hear him. "Alice, you can't do this to me. Please. I'm not ready to be a father. I can't do this on my own. Come back to me. Please. Come back to me."


	8. More Than You Can Take

**Parent Trapped**

**Chapter 8: More Than You Can Take**

_A/N: Shout-out to the lovely Guest whose well-written and smile-inducing review I regrettably could not reply to. I shall try to wield the Cane of Feels responsibly ;) I promise that last chapter is (probably) as sad as it gets. Back to the Mad Swan, then, eh? If you insist…_

XXX

_**Previously…**_

"What happened?" Emma asked. Jefferson got chills thinking about it.

"She died," he answered matter-of-factly. Emma blinked, clearly expecting more of an answer.

"That's it?" she said when he didn't elaborate. "That's it, she died?"

Jefferson's face hardened. He didn't like being asked about Alice. He didn't like to think about it. He didn't want to think about it. He didn't want to _think_. He wanted to forget, but he'd lost his chance even to do that, thanks to Regina. "That's all you need to know."

"Jefferson." When had she gotten so close? "Tell me what happened." Why was she so desperate to know? Because that much was clear; Emma _was_ desperate. Jefferson could recognize the signs of desperation from a mile off. He knew desperation, had a close personal relationship with it.

He would tell her. He didn't know why, he didn't know what had persuaded him or when he had decided it. Maybe it was Emma's hand on his arm, such a comforting gesture, the sort of thing Alice used to do when she needed him to open up about something. Or maybe it was the imploring tone of her voice.

Maybe he'd been looking for someone to confide in.

"It's not a pretty story," he warned. Emma gazed at him insistently.

"Tell me anyway."

XXX

_**And after…**_

"Nngh…"

Emma rolled her head to the side and forced her eyes open.

And screamed.

"What the _hell_, Jefferson?" She shot to her feet, toppling over the armchair she'd been sitting in and the side table in front of her. Something crashed to the floor; Emma didn't bother looking to see what it was. "What am I doing at your house?"

"You don't remember?" Jefferson asked, reaching out to Emma. She glared and he retracted his arm. "It's Saturday. You came for dinner. Well, actually, you didn't, but I thought you did; you came alone."

Emma scrunched up her eyebrows as it all came back to her. "That's right, I came to ask about Grace's mom."

"Alice," Jefferson supplied, taking a tentative step toward Emma in hopes that she had calmed down and wouldn't lash out again.

"And you… you…" Realization slowly dawned on Emma. Jefferson promising to tell the story of Alice, making them tea and then winding up this ornate decorative box that opened up and played a creepy little tune. And then… that was all she remembered.

Emma leapt back and smacked Jefferson's arm, at first aiming for his face but lowering her hand at the last second. Jefferson glared at her; so much for not lashing out. "You son of a—" Emma cut herself off, more out of habit than courtesy. She was so used to censoring herself around Henry that she'd just about lost her ability to spontaneously swear. "You put something in my tea! You crazy bastard!"

"Calm down, okay!" Jefferson held up his hands defensively. "I didn't put anything but sugar in your tea. And yes, I mean actual _sugar_. The same stuff I give to my daughter!"

"No, you're right, it wasn't the tea," Emma said, reaching out with both arms and shoving Jefferson aggressively. "It was that freaky little music player, wasn't it? That thing was magic!"

Jefferson looked at her like that was the most obvious thing in the world. He picked up the object in question – the antique music box now hanging by its hinges – up off the floor where it had fallen in Emma's initial outburst. "Well, yeah," he said, holding it up for her to see. Emma shied away from it slightly, narrowing her eyes at it suspiciously.

"What the heck _is_ that thing?" she demanded, pointing like one might point out a particularly large and hairy spider to the bravest person in the room.

"It's a music box, and it's not going to hurt you," Jefferson said with a laugh in his voice, amused by Emma's reaction. Emma cautiously stepped backward over an ottoman to put distance between herself and Jefferson.

"What does it do?" There was still an edge to Emma's voice, but at least she was no longer screaming.

"Here, look." Jefferson held it out for her to see, and this time Emma didn't pull away. "You wind it up, right, and then it plays music. But the music puts everyone else in the room to sleep and when they fall asleep, they dream in memories, the memories of whoever wound up the box." He set the box aside and took a step toward Emma. "Cool, huh?"

Emma's mouth hung open slightly, her expression a mixture of shock and disgust. "No it is not _cool_," she said, squinting at Jefferson like he'd just claimed the sky was green, which was basically how she looked at him all the time. "I get that you're crazy – the Mad Hatter, whatever – but even _you_ have to realize this sort of thing isn't okay! It's right up there with, I don't know, _kidnapping people_." She then stormed out of the living room, grabbing her jacket and heading toward the door, with Jefferson in hot pursuit.

"Emma, come on," Jefferson pleaded, reaching for her. "I'm sorry!" She spun on her heel and slapped him. It stung like hell.

"I don't care if you're sorry!" she screamed. "You used magic on me without my permission!" She gestured violently with her car keys, which she happened to be holding. "This isn't _Star Trek_; you can't just break into people's minds and show them things! Not ever, and especially not without asking!"

"It was the only way I could think to make you understand!" Jefferson exclaimed, following as Emma burst through the front door and made her way to her car. "Gold uses this sort of thing all the time; he assured me it's perfectly safe!"

"Since when is 'Mr. Gold does it' a reasonable excuse for _anything_?" Emma asked. "Last I checked, it was good enough reason to completely avoid something for the rest of your life!"

"I didn't mean any harm—" Jefferson tried to stop Emma from slamming her car door shut and ended up getting his hand caught. He cursed loudly, hoping that if Grace was in her room, she at least had the window shut and couldn't hear the argument going on just outside.

"DAMNIT, Emma!" he shouted, nursing his hand, which would probably start turning black and blue. At least it didn't feel broken. "Can't you at least calm down for a _second_ and _listen_ to me?"

Emma glared. One minute passed by, then two. Jefferson silently pleaded that Emma would at least hear him out, discuss this calmly and rationally. "Fine," she said reluctantly, throwing up her hands. "Explain. I'm listening."

Now that he finally had Emma's attention, Jefferson found he didn't know what to say. For a moment he just stood there with his mouth open like an idiot. Then the words came to him and he spoke.

"You asked me about Alice," he said, carefully keeping his tone even. "That's a story I've never been much good at telling. It's too painful. You saw it; you know. You can understand why it's hard for me to tell what happened. Even though it happened a long time ago. You never quite forget."

Emma crossed her arms, stubbornly set her jaw, and stared out the window with some unidentifiable emotion in her eyes. Her voice was a low mutter. "No, you don't, do you?" she said bitterly, not meeting Jefferson's eyes but instead staring off into the empty space between them. Jefferson frowned in confusion, but Emma's words clearly weren't meant for him, so he went on as if they hadn't been spoken.

"I don't even know why I told you," he said. "I probably shouldn't have. We're not even friends."

Emma's words from earlier that year rang in Jefferson's head: _"Sure, I understand. That doesn't mean I want to be your friend."_ Emma's gaze was piercing, looking straight through Jefferson's eyes to his soul and he couldn't take it, he had to look away, but he couldn't. Her gaze held him there. "No," Emma quietly agreed. "We're not."

"I hope this doesn't ruin anything," Jefferson said sincerely. Grace would be so disappointed if the Saturday dinners stopped.

"I don't know," Emma admitted uncertainly, but her face was cold and closed-off. Things weren't looking good. "I think it would probably be best if the dinners stop." Her eyes communicated the unspoken message: '_I think it would be best if all interaction between us stopped._' Jefferson felt rejected, but even more he dreaded breaking the news to Grace.

Emma turned her car on, and with a rumble the engine came to life.

"Just…" She took a breath and yanked the door from Jefferson's grasp, slamming it shut, though the window was left rolled down for him to hear her final words. "Just stay away from me."

Jefferson watched silently as Emma backed out of his driveway. "Emma, wait!" he called out half-heartedly, but she was already gone. He lingered for a while outside until her car was entirely out of earshot and reentered the house. He slammed the door shut behind him so hard it shook a framed picture of Grace that hung on the wall, causing it to tilt off-center.

"Damnit." He'd really screwed this one up. Grace would be upset when she found out. He wasn't looking forward to that.

XXX

_**Meanwhile, upstairs…**_

Grace bolted away from the window and yanked her phone off its charger, dialing Henry and waiting impatiently while it rang. When his voice came on the other line, she started speaking immediately.

"We have a problem," she told him, "With Operation Parent Trap."

XXX

_**At Mary Margaret's apartment…**_

The last person Emma wanted to talk to when she got home was Henry. So of course he was waiting for her as soon as she opened the door. He was at her side in a second, like an excitable puppy.

"Mom, where have you been?" he asked anxiously, sounding concerned. "We have to go; we're late for dinner!"

Emma walked straight past him into the kitchen. Henry was at her heels the whole way. "We're not doing dinner with Jefferson anymore," she said simply, keeping as much of the resentment out of her voice as she could. Just because Jefferson freaked her out didn't give Emma the right to take it out on Henry. She took a deep breath and turned to face him, mustering up an apologetic smile as she did so.

"Why not?" Henry asked, crestfallen. Emma hated to see him upset. She reached forward and tousled his hair.

"Jefferson and I just haven't been getting along." Technically it wasn't a _total_ lie. And she didn't want to explain the whole story of the music box to Henry anyway. He would have too many questions that Emma wouldn't want to answer.

"But it seemed like you were," Henry said. Emma sighed. How could she break this to him?

"We tried, kid," she said. "But it was just too uncomfortable. We both decided it was better this way." That part wasn't entirely true. Emma didn't know if Jefferson thought it was better that the dinners stopped. As soon as she'd made her decision to leave, she hadn't let him get a word in edgewise. Emma angled her head toward Henry and frowned. "I'm sorry. I know how much you wanted us to be friends."

Henry shrugged, evading Emma's eyes. "I guess it's no big deal," he muttered.

Emma tapped her teeth together, like she sometimes did when she was thinking. She couldn't bear to see Henry like this; she hated when he sulked. What was something she could do to make him forget about all this mess with Jefferson?

It was like a light bulb went on in her head. She stood up straight and grinned, nudging Henry's shoulder. "Hey, wanna stay up late and watch a movie?" she suggested. Henry looked conflicted. On the one hand, he was probably still upset that the dinners were off. But on the other, Emma knew how much he loved watching movies, especially with her or David. Emma played her ace: "We could watch _The Dark Knight_."

Henry's eyes lit up. "Really?" he said. Emma never let him watch intense or scary movies, and the only time he'd seen _The Dark Knight_ was at Jefferson's house.

"Yeah," Emma said. "You find the DVD, I'll make popcorn."

"Okay, great!" Henry exclaimed. The end of their weekly dinners was the furthest thing from his mind.


	9. A Little Extreme

**Parent Trapped**

**Chapter 9: A Little Extreme**

_A/N: Mostly a filler. Mary Margaret always knows just what to say._

XXX

_**A few days later…**_

"Tell me again," Mary Margaret requested as she crossed from the kitchen to the living room, where she and Emma were chatting on the couch, "Because I still don't understand it." Mary Margaret opened a bottle of wine and poured them both a glass. "Exactly what was so wrong about what he did?"

Emma set aside her glass of wine and heaved a sigh. She'd come to Mary Margaret because she'd needed someone to talk to about this Jefferson thing. She'd been feeling unexpectedly bad about it and she needed to know why. And Mary Margaret was undoubtedly the best person to go to for advice on just about anything.

The only problem was, Emma wasn't getting the sympathy she'd expected. Mary Margaret, in fact, did not seem to understand why Emma was so worked up about the whole thing in the first place.

"What part don't you get?" Emma asked, trying not to come across as irritated but ultimately failing. "He put me under a spell I had no control over without giving any warning or bothering to ask my permission. That's the sort of thing only Regina and Gold have done, and even they haven't done it since all the business with the curse."

"Obviously it was wrong of him not to ask," Mary Margaret conceded. "But does that really justify being _this_ upset about it? So upset you refuse to be around him ever again? I mean, you weren't hurt. There wasn't any real damage done. Kind of harsh, don't you think?"

"I think you've been listening to Ruby," Emma said. "It sounds like you think Jefferson and I have feelings for each other. But whatever alternate reality Ruby has concocted where Jefferson and I are madly in love with each other and just don't know it yet, it's not real. Jefferson and I aren't even friends. Our relationship is just us tolerating each other because our kids are best friends. Other than that, we have nothing in common. That's why I don't understand why I feel so… guilty. Sure, Henry and Grace are upset that these dinner things stopped, but to Jefferson and me, it doesn't make a difference. He's fine."

"You don't know that," Mary Margaret said.

"I don't need to," Emma said with a shrug. "We each made our feelings very clear. We're neither of us the sort to hold much in."

Mary Margaret did not look convinced. "So you're telling me you don't regret canceling the dinners _at all_?" she questioned, one eyebrow raised. "It's not that I believe Ruby – if you say you and Jefferson don't have feelings for each other, I'm sure you know best – but somehow I find that hard to believe."

"Of course I regret disappointing Henry," Emma admitted. "But otherwise—"

"You expect me to believe you didn't enjoy these dinners? Even just a little bit?"

Emma bit her lip and cradled her wineglass in both hands, staring down at the deep red liquid. Mary Margaret took on a serious tone when she next spoke.

"I think you dislike Jefferson less than you let on."

Mary Margaret leveled Emma with a searching gaze, big eyes stripping Emma of all her walls and pretentions. It was annoying, how Mary Margaret seemed able to see straight into Emma's thoughts and emotions. She couldn't keep anything a secret from her.

"Maybe you really are angry that Jefferson used magic on you like he did," said Mary Margaret. "But I know you. You can handle being angry. But you ran away from his house that day because something happened, you felt or said or heard something you couldn't handle, and it wasn't your anger."

Mary Margaret paused, as if she expected Emma to argue, but Emma knew it was useless to protest. She simply waited for her mother to continue.

"I think you've enjoyed this whole dinner arrangement," Mary Margaret said. "I think you enjoyed Jefferson's company, which wasn't something you planned on. And when you realized you didn't hate him like you thought you would, that maybe you were actually starting to _like _him – as a friend, I'm not insinuating anything – you didn't know what to do. I think when you went to his house that day asking about his wife, a part of you wanted to be his friend. You've been hurt, and you suspected he had as well, and you thought, hey, maybe here's someone who understands."

Emma still didn't say anything. Some deep feeling in the pit of her stomach told her Mary Margaret was right.

"I think you might have more in common with Jefferson than you were ready for," Mary Margaret continued. She paused again, trapped Emma in her gaze and held her there. "His story made you think of Neal, didn't it?"

Emma shot to her feet. "You don't know what you're talking about," she snapped. Mary Margaret held up her hands calmly.

"Maybe I don't," Mary Margaret said. "I just think it might be good for you to have someone who knows a little of what you've been through." Emma frowned.

"But he doesn't," she said quietly, sitting back down. "That's just it. His wife died. But she loved him. If she had lived, they would've stayed together as a family. Maybe she would've invited me to dinner earlier, and we would've become friends, and I wouldn't have been reminded of Neal at all because Jefferson hasn't been betrayed like I have."

"Maybe that's true," Mary Margaret conceded. "But you both have problems trusting, and opening up. Maybe his are for different reasons, but all the same, I think you could be good for each other. As friends," she added again, treading carefully. She looked over to Emma over her nearly empty wineglass. "Would it really be the worst thing in the world if the two of you were friends?"

Emma tapped her teeth together repeatedly. "Not the worst thing," she agreed. "But you're wrong about one thing. I really am upset. I don't trust magic, I don't understand it, and I don't care what Mr. Gold says because nothing in this world could convince me to use it, even if I _do_ have it, unless I absolutely have to."

Mary Margaret nodded. "Fair enough. Magic can be unpredictable and terrifying. Belle hates it. Ashley will probably never trust it again. I only turn to magic if I don't have any better options, and David would much rather solve his problems with a sword than a spell. But sometimes it can be useful. And Jefferson probably thought he was doing the right thing. I'm pretty sure he didn't imagine you'd take it so badly."

Emma shrugged noncommittally. "I just don't want to deal with this right now," she said. "This curse thing is finally over. The last thing I need is for my life to suddenly get complicated again."


	10. Where Have You Been

**Parent Trapped**

**Chapter 10: Where Have You Been**

_A/N: Jefferson has a plan. Unfortunately it's not a very well thought out one. This chapter uses passages from _Parent Trapped_'s sister story, _This Year_._

XXX

_**Friday, July 19th…**_

Six days passed. Late on Friday evening, Jefferson found himself sitting in front of a dark television with no particular desire to turn it on. But there was nothing else to do. Emma and Henry weren't coming over. Emma still wasn't speaking to him, and neither was Grace. When she wasn't out with Henry, she locked herself in her room and refused to speak to her father.

Jefferson drummed his fingers on the arm of the sofa. What was wrong with him? The whole week for him had been dull. He hadn't realized before how much he looked forward to the Saturday dinners. It was the only time he really interacted with anyone his age.

He'd never been much of a people person. The extent of the Hatter's relationships in the Enchanted Forest had been business-related. When Grace was born, she had filled the void in Jefferson's life that Alice had left. Being a single father with next to no income was a full-time job, and after Regina cast the curse and everyone was sent to Storybrooke, Jefferson had had no desire to socialize with the empty shells of people he'd used to know.

But now all that was over. And Jefferson had thought he was still okay being alone – maybe he was – until Emma. She'd made him realize how lonely his lifestyle was.

He kind of wanted her back. He at least wanted to make things right so Grace would forgive him. But with Emma not talking to him, Jefferson couldn't think of a way to do it.

He eyed his cell phone on the coffee table. He needed help; he needed someone he could go to for advice. The Cricket might be able to help, but there was no way Dr. Hopper was still in his office at this hour, and Jefferson didn't know the psychiatrist's personal number. He knew David was always good for relationship advice, or so he'd heard, but somehow Jefferson could hardly believe King Charming would have much experience in screwing up a relationship and needing to apologize.

It was like a light bulb went on in Jefferson's head. The beloved Charming may not have experience apologizing, but he knew someone who did.

Without giving himself time to change his mind, Jefferson jumped to his feet, grabbed his phone and his jacket and his keys, and headed out into the night.

Jefferson cursed when he stepped outside; it was raining like nobody's business. He jumped in his car and drove. When he reached his destination, he parked outside, dialed his phone, and waited while it rang.

"Please be awake," he muttered under his breath.

The voice on the other end was exhausted and murderous, but that was to be expected. The hour was swiftly approaching midnight; any reasonable person would be in bed.

"You'd better have a hell of a good reason for phoning at this time of night," Rumplestiltskin growled. "And I mean someone had better be _dying_."

Ignoring Rumplestiltskin's threat – Jefferson was frankly just glad the man had picked up – Jefferson hurriedly said, "I need your help." He heard Rumplestiltskin sigh.

"And what do you need my help _with_, pray tell?"

Jefferson didn't want to say; he wanted to tell Rumplestiltskin in person. And he wasn't sure Rumplestiltskin would help him if he knew what the problem was. "Are you at home?" Jefferson asked.

"Am I at home?" Rumplestiltskin repeated, sounding confused. "Yes. Why?" There was a pause. "You'd better not be here," Rumplestiltskin warned.

Jefferson didn't answer write away. He was there, parked right out in front of the pink house. But this was an emergency. Sort of. "Listen," he said, "It won't take long, I just need to… I just need your advice."

Another sigh. "I fail to see why you would be coming to _me_ of all people for advice," Rumplestiltskin said flatly.

"I'll explain everything in the car," Jefferson promised, but Rumplestiltskin persisted.

"Why can't I advise you from the comfort of my own home?" It was a perfectly reasonable question, and Jefferson actually had a good answer for this one.

"Because I left Grace sleeping at home and if she wakes up and I'm gone she'll worry."

Rumplestiltskin just had one last complaint: "And this couldn't wait until tomorrow?" he asked.

"I've been up all night; I can't sleep," Jefferson said. "I need your help. Please."

Rumplestiltskin reluctantly gave in. "Fine. Let me get dressed and I'll be out in a moment."

The night was dark, the moon blotted out by thick black storm clouds roiling with thunder. The only illumination was provided by the occasional streak of razor-edged lightning shattering the sky, and the telltale beams of the headlights and red glow of the taillights on Jefferson's car. The sounds of the car engine purring and the windshield wipers rapidly swishing back and forth were nearly drowned out by the loud and steady onslaught of rain.

Jefferson saw Rumplestiltskin approaching, a spell cast over his head to block out the rain. Jefferson flicked on the lights inside his car and through the window cast Rumplestiltskin an impatient look. Rumplestiltskin made a spiteful point of walking down the drive as slowly as possible.

"You're intolerable," Jefferson informed Rumplestiltskin when he finally settled into the passenger seat of the car and secured his seatbelt. Rumplestiltskin turned to the Hatter with an expression of arrogance and loathing.

"I was under the impression you needed my help," he drawled, "But if you're just here to insult me, I'll be on my way."

Jefferson glared. He wouldn't be baited so easily. "Are you finished acting like a child?" he asked. Thunder crashed overhead.

"Yes, I suppose so," Rumplestiltskin said decisively.

With a roll of his eyes, Jefferson stepped on the gas, and the car skidded to a start.

The farther along they got, the worse the conditions grew. Rain was coming down in sheets, the roads were slick, the winds were relentless, and every time another clap of thunder sounded, it momentarily startled both men in the car. Adding to that the darkness of night and Jefferson's lack of sleep, and it was the very worst time to be on the road.

It seemed they were driving into the heart of the storm; the thunder grew louder and the rain fell heavier. The houses and shops and well-paved streets of Storybrooke gave way to a winding road leading into the forest that led eventually to Jefferson's house.

Lightning flashed nearby, followed by a noisy roll of thunder. The trees on either side of the road loomed dangerously overhead. Jefferson continued driving in the direction of his isolated house. He was having trouble concentrating on the road.

When lightning struck a second time, it seemed to come down dangerously close to where they were driving. All at once Jefferson was quite awake. He saw it happen in slow motion, the flash of blinding light illuminating the sky just ahead of them, and slammed on the brakes. The car's tires screeched as they ground to a halt. In the passenger seat, Rumplestiltskin swore, and above their heads, a deafening crack resounded.

Something heavy landed on the car as it jerked to a halt; Jefferson identified it as a rather large tree branch. The roof caved in under the weight of it and both Rumplestiltskin and Jefferson were thrown back violently against their seats by the airbags.

A second branch followed the first, smaller but sharper. Jefferson threw himself over the front seat as it collided with the windshield. He yelled out in pain as shards of glass dug into his arm, but for the most part his traveler's coat shielded him.

When all the chaos had died down, it was just rain pouring in through the broken windshield. When the roof had caved in, it had trapped Jefferson and Rumplestiltskin in the front seat; the doors could no longer be opened from the inside. Jefferson turned to Rumplestiltskin, and when he saw the other man's state, his blood turned cold.

Rumplestiltskin was unconscious; a trickle of blood ran down his forehead. Jefferson knew he had to do something, but the first aid kit he kept in his car was in the backseat. Not knowing what else to do, he pulled his phone from his pocket and called an ambulance, then dialed a number he never thought he'd need again: Emma's.

She picked up on the first ring. "What?" she demanded.

"Emma, I wouldn't call if it wasn't an emergency, but I've just gotten into a bit of an accident. I was driving with Mr. Gold in the passenger seat—"

"Why was Mr. Gold with you?" Emma had taken on her no-nonsense Sheriff voice.

"It doesn't matter!" Jefferson exclaimed, beginning to panic. "Lightning struck a tree and two of the branches hit our car. We can't get out and Mr. Gold is unconscious and bleeding."

He could hear movement on Emma's end of the line. "Did you call an ambulance?" she asked.

"I did."

"You'd better not be making this up," Emma warned after a pause. "If I show up and find out you're lying to me… I can probably think of an excuse to lock you up."

"I'm not lying to you," Jefferson promised. "I just really need your help."

"Hold on," she told him. "I'm on my way."

XXX

_**Just past midnight on Saturday…**_

He heard Emma's squad car pull up on the other side of the road, with the ambulance's siren trailing after it. She leapt out, ran up to Jefferson's car, and yanked the door open with both arms. "Get out," she ordered Jefferson, "So you can help me get him out." She saw his arm, slashed and covered in blood. "What happened to your arm?" she exclaimed, horrified.

"It's nothing, it was just the glass," Jefferson told her. "We have to help Mr. Gold."

"Go get that looked at," Emma said. "I can take care of Gold." She pulled a flashlight off her belt and shone it into the car. Rumplestiltskin was still passed out in the passenger seat. The bleeding had stopped, but it had left a dark red patch down the side of his face, and some of the glass had lodged in his shoulders. Emma shook her head and turned again to Jefferson, who remained standing behind her despite her instructions to have the nurses and doctors who had come in the ambulance tend to it.

"Belle is going to kill you." Emma did not sound sympathetic. Jefferson nodded and cradled his arm.

"I know. I called her as well. She's meeting us at the hospital. And she didn't sound pleased."

Emma reached into the car, unbuckled Rumplestiltskin's seatbelt and dragged him out of the car. Two of the nurses helped him into the ambulance.

"Get in my car," she told Jefferson. "We'll follow the ambulance to the hospital."

XXX

_**At the hospital…**_

Footsteps plodded up to where Jefferson and Emma sat in the waiting area near Mr. Gold's room in the hospital. Emma looked up and saw Belle running toward them, her hair wet and stringy, barefoot and dressed in pajamas and a hoodie.

"Belle!" Emma exclaimed. She shot to her feet. Jefferson's eyes followed hers to look up at Belle with an expression of fear and guilt.

"Jefferson told me you were driving yourself," Emma said, forcing herself to sound authoritative, like a proper Sheriff. "It's a miracle you're not hurt. That's extremely dangerous and irresponsible."

"It's okay, I ran into Archie – Dr. Hopper – on my way here and he drove," Belle said quickly. She looked around. "Where's Rumplestiltskin?"

Emma wrung her hands and bit her lip. "They're… not letting anyone in," she said. Belle didn't look at all happy about that.

"What?" No," she said insistently. "I did not come all this way here in the dark, in the rain, barefoot, and in my _pajamas_, to be told I can't see him!"

I'm sorry, Belle, but there's nothing we can do," Emma told her. "You're welcome to wait with us, though."

Belle tapped her foot and gnawed her lower lip in impatience, but in the end she reluctantly agreed to join Jefferson and Emma on the worn chairs. In the seat beside Belle, Jefferson was staring fixedly at his hat with newfound fascination.

"I don't blame you," Emma heard Belle assure Jefferson quietly. Her gaze was soft. Emma couldn't remember a time when she'd had that much empathy and forgiveness.

"I do," Jefferson said. His voice was hollow and haunted. He turned to meet Belle's gaze. Emma, sitting on his other side, felt almost as if she was intruding on something quite private. "If I hadn't asked his help in the middle of the night…" He trailed off, but the implications were clear.

"It's not your fault." How could she forgive him so easily? Emma marveled. Belle paused, then asked, "What were you asking his help for, anyhow?"

Jefferson hesitated; his gaze slid down to the floor and he shifted in his seat. Emma pursed her lips and Belle narrowed her eyes; both were well aware of Jefferson and Mr. Gold's histories, in both worlds, of shady business and less-than-legal dealings. "It had better not have been anything illegal," Belle said, echoing both her and Emma's suspicions, "Or anything to do with magic."

"It wasn't," Jefferson assured her. Emma wasn't convinced, but she let the matter go and stopped listening to the conversation going on between Jefferson and Belle. Her thoughts turned to what she'd been wondering earlier, how Belle could be so kind and forgiving, and not just to Jefferson. The woman's entire relationship with Mr. Gold hinged on her forgiveness of his past actions and her acceptance of what he had once been.

Once upon a time, Emma was a little bit more like Belle. Softer, more trusting. But that part of her had been locked away inside herself for so long that she wasn't entirely sure it still existed.

XXX

_**Not too long after…**_

Jefferson entered Rumplestiltskin's hospital room, where Belle had finally been admitted. The man was still unconscious, but now at least had been cleaned off and bandaged up. Belle was at his side, holding his hand, understandably troubled.

Sitting in the waiting area outside, Jefferson had decided Belle deserved the full story. Looking up at Belle from beneath his hat, Jefferson got straight to the point.

"It was about Emma," he confessed. Belle gave him a questioning look, and he explained: "The help. I needed help with…" He sighed. "Emma and Henry have been coming over to join Grace and I for dinner every week. And last week… I screwed up. I needed advice, and I figured I'd go to him because, well…"

"You knew he had experience in the area of screwing up?" Belle finished for him.

"I didn't know what to do," Jefferson admitted. He collapsed in the chair beside her, taking off his hat and leaning forward with his head in his hands.

"What did you do?" Belle asked, placing a hand on his arm.

"I offended her, I guess," he said with a shrug. "Or scared her off. I don't know. She asked about Grace's mother; it just came up in conversation and I didn't know how to tell her. So I showed her." He reached into one of the many pockets of his jacket and withdrew a very familiar-looking box. "It's an enchanted music box."

He held it out to Belle, and she took it, turning it over and over in her hands. "Rumplestiltskin has one of these," she said. Jefferson nodded.

"You wind it up and think of the memories you want to show. Everyone else who hears the song falls into a deep sleep and dreams your memories."

Belle handed the box back to Jefferson, and he pocketed it. "So you used this on Emma?" He nodded. "And what did she say?"

Jefferson averted his eyes. "She understandably was freaked out. She felt violated, since I'd used magic on her without asking. And she took Henry and stormed out, and hasn't spoken to me since, until tonight." He chuckled humorlessly. "At first she thought I was faking when I called and told her what happened." He rested his chin in his hand. "I don't know what I can do."

For a minute, Belle said nothing. "Just explain," she then said. "Go to the Sheriff station – she'll feel more comfortable in her own territory – and tell her why you did what you did, and apologize for what you did wrong."

"You really think that will work?" Jefferson asked with genuine concern. Belle shrugged.

"It worked on me."

XXX

_**That afternoon, at the Sheriff station…**_

"You left last night," Jefferson said, his voice alerting Emma to his presence, "Before I could thank you."

Emma turned, unprepared to see him standing in the doorway. She kept her face impassive and stood to face him. This wasn't something she wanted to do right now. Or ever.

"I had to get home to Henry," Emma said by way of explanation.

"Understandable." Jefferson paced around her in a way that made her feel distinctly uncomfortable. She wished he would leave. She wished they could leave things be between them, but she knew they couldn't. As much as Emma couldn't stand that Jefferson had just gone and used magic on her, both her talk with Mary Margaret and her experience seeing Belle forgive Jefferson yesterday for something he'd done that had caused much more harm than a few memory-dreams had convinced Emma of something.

She had to give the dinners another chance.

"Listen, Emma, I—" Jefferson began, but Emma cut him off.

"Don't," she said. "You're sorry. I forgive you. And I'll see you at six."

"Wait," Jefferson said, "Shouldn't we… talk about this?"

"Do you want to?" Emma raised an eyebrow. Jefferson shifted uncomfortably on his feet.

"Well, no."

"Good," Emma said curtly. "Neither do I."

"But what convinced you?" Jefferson asked. "I came here ready to apologize and explain everything, and you're just… you just forgive me without a fuss? I almost feel cheated."

Emma laughed. "I had a talk with Mary Margaret," she explained. "She made a few good points. Including that… maybe it wouldn't suck if we were to be friends."

"If we… were…" Jefferson paused. "_What_?"

"Your story with Alice…" Emma bit her lip and considered her words before continuing. "It's terrible, what happened to her, but… to be honest, I envy you. what you had, even just for a little while, was great and it was _real_. I never had that. And if I did, it didn't last long enough for me to know it."

"Henry's father?" Jefferson asked. He didn't need to say much else. Emma nodded.

"Yeah," she said bitterly. "He left. Just… one day, without a trace. The story's more complicated than that, but it's all you need to know. For now, anyways. It's not important. What is important is, I think you and I sort of understand each other. In a weird, unexpected way. And maybe that means we should be friends. I don't know. I don't really know how friendship works."

"Neither do I," Jefferson admitted. "But I guess it's something we could try."

"Super," Emma said. She attempted a smile. "Henry and I will be at your house at six. I know he'll be happy to hear we've made up."

"Grace too," Jefferson said. "She hasn't spoken to me all week."

"I bribed Henry with Batman," Emma confessed.

"That was smart of you," Jefferson said. "I can't believe I didn't think of that." He laughed and backed toward the door. "I'll, uh, see you, then." Emma nodded and Jefferson turned to leave.

"Oh, and uh, one more thing," Emma added before she lost her nerve. "We will _never_ have a talk like this again, understood? I don't really do… feelings, and all that."

"Oh, no, definitely not," Jefferson agreed. "This will never happen again."

"Good." Emma nodded like she couldn't stop, like a ridiculous bobble head. She felt unbelievably stupid. "Good, okay, as long as we understand each other."

"Yeah," Jefferson said, "I think we do."


	11. Keep Your Head

**Parent Trapped**

**Chapter 11: Keep Your Head**

_A/N: Apologies for the delay; I've been writing a lot of Rumbelle lately but clearly not enough Mad Swan!_

XXX

_**Later that same Saturday…**_

Under the tentative premise of their newfound friendship, Emma and Jefferson both found their regular Saturday dinners far more enjoyable.

Unfortunately they – or at least Emma – also found them far more confusing. When she and Jefferson had just been doing this for Grace and Henry's sakes, they had known exactly where they stood with each other and what conduct was expected in their interactions. But now, with no real, concrete definition of the parameters of their relationship, the most they could do was play it by ear.

This wouldn't have been so difficult if Emma and Jefferson were better versed in the art of navigating the many nuances of social situations. As luck would have it, though, both of them were awkward and tactless enough – in their own different ways, but for similar reasons – to have no idea what they were doing.

The awkwardness began on the very first dinner, the moment Emma stepped onto the threshold of Jefferson's house in the woods. He reached for her shoulders to take her jacket, but Emma, not knowing what Jefferson was doing, lurched away when she felt his fingers brush her shoulder. She spun around, heart pounding harder and faster than usual.

"I'm just taking your jacket to hang it up," Jefferson said, holding his hands up as if to show that he wasn't concealing any hidden weapons. Emma's heartbeat slowed to normal, but her guard stayed up. She removed the jacket herself.

"I can take care of it," Emma stated in a strained polite voice. Jefferson gave a nod and a shrug and let her hang her own jacket.

"Suit yourself," he said with a sly smirk, "But your surprise at my gentlemanliness makes me wonder what kind of men you've been spending time with up till now."

Emma rolled her eyes. "I don't know if you're forgetting, but I happen to live with the most chivalrous man in the world: David." She followed Jefferson into the living room, trailed by Henry and Grace, who were being oddly quiet and wouldn't stop staring. It was creeping Emma out. "I'm just not used to _you_ acting that way."

Jefferson smiled. "When are you going to learn to trust me, Emma?" he asked, and his tone said he was joking but his eyes said he was serious. Emma didn't know what to believe, and was disconcerted. She stammered a moment before finding her words, something that almost never happened to her.

"I… don't know," she said, unable to come up with a sarcastic or snide remark.

In the living room, Henry and Grace were already sprawled across two large beanbags on the far side of the couch, by the wall. "Are we watching a movie?" Emma asked.

"Yeah, if that's okay," Jefferson said. "Grace is disappointed that all we've done together is have dinner. Apparently 'eating is boring.'" He rolled his eyes and gave Grace an exasperated look. Grace merely grinned, then turned to whisper something to Henry.

Seriously, those kids were really starting to unnerve Emma. Their behavior lately was so unlike them. They were acting suspicious; Emma couldn't help but wonder if there was something going on between them, and filed the question away to ask Henry later.

"A movie is fine with me," Emma said with a shrug.

Jefferson sat down on the couch, by the armrest closest to the kids. Emma, still standing, felt his eyes on her. Feeling suddenly extremely self-conscious, Emma perched carefully on the edge of the seat, close enough to Jefferson that she wouldn't give the impression that she was deliberately avoiding him, but leaving enough space between them that they wouldn't touch unless they went out of their way to. Which they most certainly would not.

The rest of the night was a continuation of this awkward back-and-forth exchange, like a clumsy, uncomfortable tango to a song that just wouldn't end. Emma reached for a slice of the large delivery pizza on the coffee table; her hand bumped into Jefferson's as he reached for his drink. This happened three times before Emma finally just decided not to reach for anything else for the remainder of the evening unless Jefferson was in another room.

Halfway through the movie, Emma finished her soda and went to the fridge for another; she was exhausted from staying up so late the night before, what with the whole car crash fiasco, and she desperately needed caffeine. When struggling to open a particularly stubborn bottle, Emma twisted the cap so fiercely it flew off. To add insult to injury, all her twisting had shaken up the bottle, and she ended up with Diet Coke all down the front of her shirt.

Emma cursed under her breath, quiet enough that Henry wouldn't hear (she tried not to curse in front of him). Reacting quickly, she set the bottle in the sink to continue its relentless frothing, tore off several paper towels from the roll next too the sink, and wiped off the bubbly brown puddle from the kitchen tile. She then looked at her shirt – of course this would happen to her on a day she chose to wear white – to assess the damage.

Just then, Jefferson, sitting on the couch in the adjacent living room, turned to see what was taking Emma so long in the kitchen. "You okay in there?" he asked, standing when he saw Emma bent over the sink, running the water over the enormous stain in her shirt (she had never been all that good at this whole "cleaning" business).

"What happened?" Jefferson asked when he reached her. Emma shook her head and turned off the water, holding out her still-stained and now-drenched shirt so the water wouldn't seep through to her bra. Jefferson winced at the sight. "Ooh, I'm afraid that's not going to come out," he said. He gestured toward the stairs. "D'you want to borrow a shirt? That one's done for."

Emma groaned and nodded. "Yeah, thanks," she said, following Jefferson up the stairs. "This is embarrassing; I'm not usually such a klutz."

"I know," Jefferson said. "You're probably tired. Which isn't your fault; if anything, it's mine." He looked back at her and gave an apologetic half-smile; Emma dismissed this. She didn't want to think about the events of the previous night. She just wanted her life to calm down again.

Jefferson opened a set of double-doors to his bedroom; he turned on the lights and Emma got her first look inside. It looked much like the rest of the house, nothing much to distinguish it. There was a television across from the bed, resting atop a rather large set of drawers, and a sizable bathroom off to the side. Jefferson went to the set of drawers, digging through to find a plain white button-up shirt and tossing it to Emma.

"Here, that okay?" he asked. Emma caught the shirt and held it up in front of her; it wasn't too oversized, all things considered. She nodded.

"Yeah, this'll work fine," she said. Jefferson gave a satisfied nod and made for the door to give Emma privacy to change. "Hey, thanks," Emma said, glancing over her shoulder at him as he left.

"No problem," he said. Emma's eyes took him in, standing in the doorway with the door half-closed behind him, his eyes wide and unassuming and his face expressionless. Her brain seemed to register every last detail about him, from the casual messiness of his hair down to the color of his eyes, which was something she'd never thought about before and wasn't the sort of thing she usually noticed.

Then Emma shook her head, and blinked, and looked away. And Jefferson closed the door. And the moment that had stretched out to last longer than it had any right to came to an end, and it was as if it had never happened.

When Emma returned downstairs, she didn't even look at Jefferson, and he didn't look at her. She turned her attention back to the movie and ignored the unsettling feeling in her stomach, because she'd probably just eaten too much pizza. Her eyelids began to feel heavy, and she vaguely registered the fact that she'd never gotten around to drinking that second Diet Coke. She would get up to get another in a minute, she told herself…

But she never did.

Two full hours later, Emma blinked her eyes open. The room was dark and quiet, the television turned off, and Henry and Grace nowhere in sight. Emma frowned and realized she must have fallen asleep shortly after changing her shirt, because that was the last thing she could remember. Offhandedly, she observed that the pillow she was leaning on wasn't very comfortable.

Except…

Emma jolted up and with a sudden burst of energy leapt to her feet like she'd been burned. It wasn't a pillow she'd fallen asleep on, it turned out. Jefferson, still sitting in exactly the same manner he'd been sitting for the duration of the film, looked at Emma in the dark, his gaze calm and focused.

"Why is it I keep waking up in your house?" Emma asked, rubbing her back, which was sore from the position she'd fallen asleep in: leaning sideways on Jefferson's shoulder. Jefferson rolled his shoulder to loosen it up and stood.

"I wasn't going to carry you home, if that's what you wanted," Jefferson said drily. Emma leveled him with a look.

"Of course that's not what I wanted," she said.

"I did, however, notice that you and I spend the majority of our time together with one of us unconscious." Jefferson smirked.

"It's crazy," Emma agreed. She stretched, winced, and massaged her neck. "I am so sore," she complained, then realized something quite important that she probably should have noticed before: "Where's Henry?"

"He's asleep," Jefferson answered calmly. Emma looked at the clock; the hour was swift approaching midnight. She groaned.

"How could you have let me sleep this long?" she asked. Jefferson shrugged.

"I didn't want to wake you," he said. "You looked like you needed the sleep."

"I'm sure you needed it even more than I do, but you still let me keep you up all night sleeping on your shoulder," Emma reasoned, but Jefferson ignored her concern.

"I don't sleep much," he said simply. Emma didn't question it. Whatever the reason, she was fairly certain she didn't want to know.

"Anyways," Jefferson segued, taking on a more casual tone, "You're free to take the guest room, or just go home and pick Henry up in the morning, if you feel like you're awake enough to drive."

"I think that's what I'll do," Emma said. Jefferson nodded and together they made their way to the front hallway, where Jefferson gave Emma her jacket. Emma chuckled, remembering their awkward exchange from earlier that evening.

"I'll see you tomorrow morning, then?" Jefferson affirmed, holding the door open for Emma.

"Yeah, I'll text you when I'm on my way," Emma said. "And hey. Sorry for falling asleep on you. If I were you, I'd have died of boredom having to sit still that long."

"Like I said, it wasn't a problem," Jefferson told her in an easy, dismissive tone. "I like having the time to think. After Henry and Grace fell asleep it was just me and my thoughts. Gave me some time to sort through them. I'm a little disorganized up here," he said, gesturing to his head.

"I believe that," Emma said with a smirk. She was still standing in the open doorway with the black night at her back, but neither she nor Jefferson seemed to notice, so caught up were they in their conversation. "Well, as long as you don't hate me for keeping you up."

"You know me," Jefferson said. "I can't be bothered to hate anyone. It takes a supremely organized mind to truly hate someone, and even then you'll end up wasting half your life obsessing over that hatred. Just look at Regina."

"You wasted half your life obsessed with getting a magic hat to work," Emma countered.

"That was hardly a waste," Jefferson said, grinning unrepentantly. "Have you seen all the fabulous hats I have?"

Emma laughed. "You never wear them," she said.

"But I could," Jefferson pointed out, "If I wanted to."

Their conversation ended there; Emma was too tired to continue their banter. So they said their goodbyes and Emma got into her car and drove away.

She was halfway home when she realized how easily she and Jefferson had just conversed with one another. Like they actually were becoming friends, as opposed to just saying they were.

It was an interesting feeling.


End file.
